Letters to His Son, 1746 to 1747

T >> The Earl of Chesterfield >> Letters to His Son, 1746 to 1747


----Genus et proavos, et qua non fecimus ipsi;
Vix ea nostra voco.

Good night.




LETTER XX

LONDON, November 24, O. S. 1747

DEAR BOY: As often as I write to you (and that you know is pretty often),
so often I am in doubt whether it is to any purpose, and whether it is
not labor and paper lost. This entirely depends upon the degree of reason
and reflection which you are master of, or think proper to exert. If you
give yourself time to think, and have sense enough to think right, two
reflections must necessarily occur to you; the one is, that I have a
great deal of experience, and that you have none: the other is, that I am
the only man living who cannot have, directly or indirectly, any interest
concerning you, but your own. From which two undeniable principles, the
obvious and necessary conclusion is, that you ought, for your own sake,
to attend to and follow my advice.

If, by the application which I recommend to you, you acquire great
knowledge, you alone are the gainer; I pay for it. If you should deserve
either a good or a bad character, mine will be exactly what it is now,
and will neither be the better in the first case, nor worse in the
latter. You alone will be the gainer or the loser.

Whatever your pleasures may be, I neither can nor shall envy you them, as
old people are sometimes suspected by young people to do; and I shall
only lament, if they should prove such as are unbecoming a man of honor,
or below a man of sense. But you will be the real sufferer, if they are
such. As therefore, it is plain that I can have no other motive than that
of affection in whatever I say to you, you ought to look upon me as your
best, and, for some years to come, your only friend.

True friendship requires certain proportions of age and manners, and can
never subsist where they are extremely different, except in the relations
of parent and child, where affection on one side, and regard on the
other, make up the difference. The friendship which you may contract with
people of your own age may be sincere, may be warm; but must be, for some
time, reciprocally unprofitable, as there can be no experience on either
side. The young leading the young, is like the blind leading the blind;
(they will both fall into the ditch.) The only sure guide is, he who has
often gone the road which you want to go. Let me be that guide; who have
gone all roads, and who can consequently point out to you the best. If
you ask me why I went any of the bad roads myself, I will answer you very
truly, That it was for want of a good guide: ill example invited me one
way, and a good guide was wanting to show me a better. But if anybody,
capable of advising me, had taken the same pains with me, which I have
taken, and will continue to take with you, I should have avoided many
follies and inconveniences, which undirected youth run me into. My father
was neither desirous nor able to advise me; which is what, I hope, you
cannot say of yours. You see that I make use, only of the word advice;
because I would much rather have the assent of your reason to my advice,
than the submission of your will to my authority. This, I persuade
myself, will happen, from that degree of sense which I think you have;
and therefore I will go on advising, and with hopes of success.

You are now settled for some time at Leipsig; the principal object of
your stay there is the knowledge of books and sciences; which if you do
not, by attention and application, make yourself master of while you are
there, you will be ignorant of them all the rest of your life; and, take
my word for it, a life of ignorance is not only a very contemptible, but
a very tiresome one. Redouble your attention, then, to Mr. Harte, in your
private studies of the 'Literae Humaniores,' especially Greek. State your
difficulties, whenever you have any; and do not suppress them, either
from mistaken shame, lazy indifference, or in order to have done the
sooner. Do the same when you are at lectures with Professor Mascow, or
any other professor; let nothing pass till you are sure that you
understand it thoroughly; and accustom yourself to write down the capital
points of what you learn. When you have thus usefully employed your
mornings, you may, with a safe conscience, divert yourself in the
evenings, and make those evenings very useful too, by passing them in
good company, and, by observation and attention, learning as much of the
world as Leipsig can teach you. You will observe and imitate the manners
of the people of the best fashion there; not that they are (it may be)
the best manners in the world; but because they are the best manners of
the place where you are, to which a man of sense always conforms. The
nature of things (as I have often told you) is always and everywhere the
same; but the modes of them vary more or less, in every country; and an
easy and genteel conformity to them, or rather the assuming of them at
proper times, and in proper places, is what particularly constitutes a
man of the world, and a well-bred man.

Here is advice enough, I think, and too much, it may be, you will think,
for one letter; if you follow it, you will get knowledge, character, and
pleasure by it; if you do not, I only lose 'operam et oleum,' which, in
all events, I do not grudge you.

I send you, by a person who sets out this day for Leipsig, a small packet
from your Mamma, containing some valuable things which you left behind,
to which I have added, by way of new-year's gift, a very pretty
tooth-pick case; and, by the way, pray take great care of your teeth, and
keep them extremely clean. I have likewise sent you the Greek roots,
lately translated into English from the French of the Port Royal. Inform
yourself what the Port Royal is. To conclude with a quibble: I hope you
will not only feed upon these Greek roots, but likewise digest them
perfectly. Adieu.




LETTER XXI

LONDON, December 15, O. S. 1747

DEAR Boy: There is nothing which I more wish that you should know, and
which fewer people do know, than the true use and value of time. It is in
everybody's mouth; but in few people's practice. Every fool, who
slatterns away his whole time in nothings, utters, however, some trite
commonplace sentence, of which there are millions, to prove, at once, the
value and the fleetness of time. The sun-dials, likewise all over Europe,
have some ingenious inscription to that effect; so that nobody squanders
away their time, without hearing and seeing, daily, how necessary it is
to employ it well, and how irrecoverable it is if lost. But all these
admonitions are useless, where there is not a fund of good sense and
reason to suggest them, rather than receive them. By the manner in which
you now tell me that you employ your time, I flatter myself that you have
that fund; that is the fund which will make you rich indeed. I do not,
therefore, mean to give you a critical essay upon the use and abuse of
time; but I will only give you some hints with regard to the use of one
particular period of that long time which, I hope, you have before you; I
mean, the next two years. Remember, then, that whatever knowledge you do
not solidly lay the foundation of before you are eighteen, you will never
be the master of while you breathe. Knowledge is a comfortable and
necessary retreat and shelter for us in an advanced age; and if we do not
plant it while young, it will give us no shade when we grow old. I
neither require nor expect from you great application to books, after you
are once thrown out into the great world. I know it is impossible; and it
may even, in some cases, be improper; this, therefore, is your time, and
your only time, for unwearied and uninterrupted application. If you
should sometimes think it a little laborious, consider that labor is the
unavoidable fatigue of a necessary journey. The more hours a day you
travel, the sooner you will be at your journey's end. The sooner you are
qualified for your liberty, the sooner you shall have it; and your
manumission will entirely depend upon the manner in which you employ the
intermediate time. I think I offer you a very good bargain, when I
promise you, upon my word, that if you will do everything that I would
have you do, till you are eighteen, I will do everything that you would
have me do ever afterward.

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




LETTER XXII

LONDON, December 18, O. S. 1747.

DEAR Boy: As two mails are now due from Holland,

I have no letters of yours, or Mr. Harte's to acknowledge; so that this
letter is the effect of that 'scribendi cacoethes,' which my fears, my
hopes, and my doubts, concerning you give me. When I have wrote you a
very long letter upon any subject, it is no sooner gone, but I think I
have omitted something in it, which might be of use to you; and then I
prepare the supplement for the next post: or else some new subject occurs
to me, upon which I fancy I can give you some informations, or point out
some rules which may be advantageous to you. This sets me to writing
again, though God knows whether to any purpose or not; a few years more
can only ascertain that. But, whatever my success may be, my anxiety and
my care can only be the effects of that tender affection which I have for
you; and which you cannot represent to yourself greater than it really
is. But do not mistake the nature of that affection, and think it of a
kind that you may with impunity abuse. It is not natural affection, there
being in reality no such thing; for, if there were, some inward sentiment
must necessarily and reciprocally 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, and novel writers, and such
sentiment-mongers, may be pleased to say to the contrary. Neither is my
affection for you that of a mother, of which the only, or at least the
chief objects, are health and life: I wish you them both most heartily;
but, at the same time, I confess they are by no means my principal care.

My object is to have you fit to live; which, if you are not, I do not
desire that you should live at all. My affection for you then is, and
only will be, proportioned to your merit; which is the only affection
that one rational being ought to have for another. Hitherto I have
discovered nothing wrong in your heart, or your head: on the contrary I
think I see sense in the one, and sentiments in the other. This
persuasion is the only motive of my present affection; which will either
increase or diminish, according to your merit or demerit. If you have the
knowledge, the honor, and probity, which you may have, the marks and
warmth of my affection shall amply reward them; but if you have them not,
my aversion and indignation will rise in the same proportion; and, in
that case, remember, that I am under no further obligation, than to give
you the necessary means of subsisting. If ever we quarrel, do not expect
or depend upon any weakness in my nature, for a reconciliation, as
children frequently do, and often meet with, from silly parents; I have
no such weakness about me: and, as I will never quarrel with you but upon
some essential point; if once we quarrel, I will never forgive. But I
hope and believe, that this declaration (for it is no threat) will prove
unnecessary. You are no stranger to the principles of virtue; and,
surely, whoever knows virtue must love it. As for knowledge, you have
already enough of it, to engage you to acquire more. The ignorant only,
either despise it, or think that they have enough: those who have the
most are always the most desirous to have more, and know that the most
they can have is, alas! but too little.

Reconsider, from time to time, and retain the friendly advice which I
send you. The advantage will be all your own.




LETTER XXIII

LONDON, December 29, O. S. 1747

DEAR BOY: I have received two letters from you of the 17th and 22d, N.
S., by the last of which I find that some of mine to you must have
miscarried; for I have never been above two posts without writing to you
or to Mr. Harte, and even very long letters. I have also received a
letter from Mr. Harte, which gives me great satisfaction: it is full of
your praises; and he answers for you, that, in two years more, you will
deserve your manumission, and be fit to go into the world, upon a footing
that will do you honor, and give me pleasure.

I thank you for your offer of the new edition of 'Adamus Adami,' but I do
not want it, having a good edition of it at present. When you have read
that, you will do well to follow it with Pere Bougeant's 'Histoire du
Traite de Munster,' in two volumes quarto; which contains many important
anecdotes concerning that famous treaty, that are not in Adamus Adami.

You tell me that your lectures upon the 'Jus Publicum' will be ended at
Easter; but then I hope that Monsieur Mascow will begin them again; for I
would not have you discontinue that study one day while you are at
Leipsig. I suppose that Monsieur Mascow will likewise give you lectures
upon the 'Instrumentum Pacis,' and upon the capitulations of the late
emperors. Your German will go on of course; and I take it for granted
that your stay at Leipsig will make you a perfect master of that
language, both as to speaking and writing; for remember, that knowing any
language imperfectly, is very little better than not knowing it at all:
people being as unwilling to speak in a language which they do not
possess thoroughly, as others are to hear them. Your thoughts are
cramped, and appear to great disadvantage, in any language of which you
are not perfect master. Let modern history share part of your time, and
that always accompanied with the maps of the places in question;
geography and history are very imperfect separately, and, to be useful,
must be joined.

Go to the Duchess of Courland's as often as she and your leisure will
permit. The company of women of fashion will improve your manners, though
not your understanding; and that complaisance and politeness, which are
so useful in men's company, can only be acquired in women's.

Remember always, what I have told you a thousand times, that all the
talents in the world will want all their lustre, and some part of their
use too, if they are not adorned with that easy good-breeding, that
engaging manner, and those graces, which seduce and prepossess people in
your favor at first sight. A proper care of your person is by no means to
be neglected; always extremely clean; upon proper occasions fine. Your
carriage genteel, and your motions graceful. Take particular care of your
manner and address, when you present yourself in company. Let them be
respectful without meanness, easy without too much familiarity, genteel
without affectation, and insinuating without any seeming art or design.

You need not send me any more extracts of the German constitution; which,
by the course of your present studies, I know you must soon be acquainted
with; but I would now rather that your letters should be a sort of
journal of your own life. As, for instance, what company you keep, what
new acquaintances you make, what your pleasures are; with your own
reflections upon the whole: likewise what Greek and Latin books you read
and understand. Adieu!




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Attention and civility please all
Avoid singularity
Blindness of the understanding is as much to be pitied
Choose your pleasures for yourself
Civility, which is a disposition to accommodate and oblige others
Complaisant indulgence for people's weaknesses
Contempt
Disagreeable to seem reserved, and very dangerous not to be so
Do as you would be done by
Do what you are about
Dress well, and not too well
Dressed like the reasonable people of your own age
Easy without too much familiarity
Employ your whole time, which few people do
Exalt the gentle in woman and man--above the merely genteel
Eyes and ears open and mouth mostly shut
Fit to live--or not live at all
Flexibility of manners is necessary in the course of the world
Genteel without affectation
Geography and history are very imperfect separately
Good-breeding
Gratitude not being universal, nor even common
Greatest fools are the greatest liars
He that is gentil doeth gentil deeds
If once we quarrel, I will never forgive
Injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult
Judge of every man's truth by his degree of understanding
Knowing any language imperfectly
Knowledge: either despise it, or think that they have enough
Labor is the unavoidable fatigue of a necessary journey
Let nothing pass till you understand it
Life of ignorance is not only a very contemptible, but tiresome
Listlessness and indolence are always blameable
Make a great difference between companions and friends
Make himself whatever he pleases, except a good poet
Merit and good-breeding will make their way everywhere
Never maintain an argument with heat and clamor
Observe, without being thought an observer
Only doing one thing at a time
Pay them with compliments, but not with confidence
Pleasure is the rock which most young people split upon
Pride of being the first of the company
Real friendship is a slow grower
Receive them with great civility, but with great incredulity
Recommend it(pleasure) to you, like an Epicurean
Respectful without meanness, easy without too much familiarity
Scarce any flattery is too gross for them to swallow
Sentiment-mongers
State your difficulties, whenever you have any
Studied and elaborate dress of the ugliest women in the world
Sure guide is, he who has often gone the road which you want to
Talk of natural affection is talking nonsense
TELL ME WHO YOU LIVE WITH AND I WILL TELL YOU WHO YOU ARE
Thing so precious as time, and so irrecoverable when lost
True use and value of time
Unguarded frankness
Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well
Wrapped up and absorbed in their abstruse speculations
Young leading the young, is like the blind leading the blind