Letters to His Son, 1748

T >> The Earl of Chesterfield >> Letters to His Son, 1748


A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

I shall send you by a ship that goes to Hamburg next week (and by which
Hawkins sends Mr. Harte some things that he wrote for) all those which I
propose sending you by Mr. Eliot, together with a very little box that I
am desired to forward to Mr. Harte. There will be, likewise, two letters
of recommendation for you to Monsieur Andrie and Comte Algarotti, at
Berlin, which you will take care to deliver to them, as soon as you shall
be rigged and fitted out to appear there. They will introduce you into
the best company, and I depend upon your own good sense for your avoiding
of bad. If you fall into bad and low company there, or anywhere else, you
will be irrecoverably lost; whereas, if you keep good company, and
company above yourself, your character and your fortune will be immovably
fixed.

I have not time to-day, upon account of the meeting of the parliament, to
make this letter of the usual length; and indeed, after the volumes that
I have written to you, all I can add must be unnecessary. However, I
shall probably, 'ex abundanti', return soon to my former prolixity; and
you will receive more and more last words from, Yours.




LETTER LVIII

LONDON, December 6, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY: I am at present under very great concern for the loss of a most
affectionate brother, with whom I had always lived in the closest
friendship. My brother John died last Friday night, of a fit of the gout,
which he had had for about a month in his hands and feet, and which fell
at last upon his stomach and head. As he grew, toward the last,
lethargic, his end was not painful to himself. At the distance which you
are at from hence, you need not go into mourning upon this occasion, as
the time of your mourning would be near over, before you could put it on.

By a ship which sails this week for Hamburg, I shall send you those
things which I proposed to have sent you by Mr. Eliot, viz., a little box
from your Mamma; a less box for Mr. Harte; Mr. Locke's book upon
education; the print of Carlo Maratti, which I mentioned to you some time
ago; and two letters of recommendation, one to Monsieur Andrie and the
other to Comte Algarotti, at Berlin. Both those gentlemen will, I am
sure, be as willing as they are able to introduce you into the best
company; and I hope you will not (as many of your countrymen are apt to
do) decline it. It is in the best companies only; that you can learn the
best manners and that 'tournure', and those graces, which I have so often
recommended to you, as the necessary means of making a figure in the
world.

I am most extremely pleased with the account which Mr. Harte gives me of
your progress in Greek, and of your having read Hesiod almost critically.
Upon this subject I suggest but one thing to you, of many that I might
suggest; which is, that you have now got over the difficulties of that
language, and therefore it would be unpardonable not to persevere to your
journey's end, now that all the rest of your way is down hill.

I am also very well pleased to hear that you have such a knowledge of,
and taste for curious books and scarce and valuable tracts. This is a
kind of knowledge which very well becomes a man of sound and solid
learning, but which only exposes a man of slight and superficial reading;
therefore, pray make the substance and matter of such books your first
object, and their title-pages, indexes, letter, and binding, but your
second. It is the characteristic of a man of parts and good judgment to
know, and give that degree of attention that each object deserves.
Whereas little minds mistake little objects for great ones, and lavish
away upon the former that time and attention which only the latter
deserve. To such mistakes we owe the numerous and frivolous tribes of
insect-mongers, shell-mongers, and pursuers and driers of butterflies,
etc. The strong mind distinguishes, not only between the useful and the
useless, but likewise between the useful and the curious. He applies
himself intensely to the former; he only amuses himself with the latter.
Of this little sort of knowledge, which I have just hinted at, you will
find at least as much as you need wish to know, in a superficial but
pretty French book, entitled, 'Spectacle de la Nature'; which will amuse
you while you read it, and give you a sufficient notion of the various
parts of nature. I would advise you to read it, at leisure hours. But
that part of nature, which Mr. Harte tells me you have begun to study
with the Rector magnificus, is of much greater importance, and deserves
much more attention; I mean astronomy. The vast and immense planetary
system, the astonishing order and regularity of those innumerable worlds,
will open a scene to you, which not only deserves your attention as a
matter of curiosity, or rather astonishment; but still more, as it will
give you greater, and consequently juster, ideas of that eternal and
omnipotent Being, who contrived, made, and still preserves that universe,
than all the contemplation of this, comparatively, very little orb, which
we at present inhabit, could possibly give you. Upon this subject,
Monsieur Fontenelle's 'Pluralite des Mondes', which you may read in two
hours' time, will both inform and please you. God bless you! Yours.




LETTER LIX

LONDON, December 13, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY: The last four posts have brought me no letters, either from you
or from Mr. Harte, at which I am uneasy; not as a mamma would be, but as
a father should be: for I do not want your letters as bills of health;
you are young, strong, and healthy, and I am, consequently, in no pain
about that: moreover, were either you or Mr. Harte ill, the other would
doubtless write me word of it. My impatience for yours or Mr. Harte's
letters arises from a very different cause, which is my desire to hear
frequently of the state and progress of your mind. You are now at that
critical period of life when every week ought to produce fruit or flowers
answerable to your culture, which I am sure has not been neglected; and
it is by your letters, and Mr. Harte's accounts of you, that, at this
distance, I can only judge at your gradations to maturity; I desire,
therefore, that one of you two will not fail to write to me once a week.
The sameness of your present way of life, I easily conceive, would not
make out a very interesting letter to an indifferent bystander; but so
deeply concerned as I am in the game you are playing, even the least move
is to me of importance, and helps me to judge of the final event.

As you will be leaving Leipsig pretty soon after you shall have received
this letter, I here send you one inclosed to deliver to Mr. Mascow. It is
to thank him for his attention and civility to you, during your stay with
him: and I take it for granted, that you will not fail making him the
proper compliments at parting; for the good name that we leave behind at
one place often gets before us to another, and is of great use. As Mr.
Mascow is much known and esteemed in the republic of letters, I think it
would be of advantage to you, if you got letters of recommendation from
him to some of the learned men at Berlin. Those testimonials give a
lustre, which is not to be despised; for the most ignorant are forced to
seem, at least, to pay a regard to learning, as the most wicked are to
virtue. Such is their intrinsic worth.

Your friend Duval dined with me the other day, and complained most
grievously that he had not heard from you above a year; I bid him abuse
you for it himself; and advised him to do it in verse, which, if he was
really angry, his indignation would enable him to do. He accordingly
brought me, yesterday, the inclosed reproaches and challenge, which he
desired me to transmit to you. As this is his first essay in English
poetry, the inaccuracies in the rhymes and the numbers are very
excusable. He insists, as you will find, upon being answered in verse;
which I should imagine that you and Mr. HARTE, together, could bring
about; as the late Lady Dorchester used to say, that she and Dr.
Radcliffe, together, could cure a fever. This is however sure, that it
now rests upon you; and no man can say what methods Duval may take, if
you decline his challenge. I am sensible that you are under some
disadvantages in this proffered combat. Your climate, at this time of the
year especially, delights more in the wood fire, than in the poetic fire;
and I conceive the Muses, if there are any at Leipsig, to be rather
shivering than singing; nay, I question whether Apollo is even known
there as god of Verse, or as god of Light: perhaps a little as god of
Physic. These will be fair excuses, if your performance should fall
something short; though I do not apprehend that it will.

While you have been at Leipsig, which is a place of study more than of
pleasure or company, you have had all opportunities of pursuing your
studies uninterruptedly; and have had, I believe, very few temptations to
the contrary. But the case will be quite different at Berlin, where the
splendor and dissipation of a court and the 'beau monde', will present
themselves to you in gaudy shapes, attractive enough to all young people.
Do not think, now, that like an old fellow, I am going to advise you to
reject them, and shut yourself up in your closet: quite the contrary; I
advise you to take your share, and enter into them with spirit and
pleasure; but then I advise you, too, to allot your time so prudently, as
that learning may keep pace with pleasures; there is full time, in the
course of the day, for both, if you do but manage that time right and
like a good economist. The whole morning, if diligently and attentively
devoted to solid studies, will go a great way at the year's end; and the
evenings spent in the pleasures of good company, will go as far in
teaching you a knowledge, not much less necessary than the other, I mean
the knowledge of the world. Between these two necessary studies, that of
books in the morning, and that of the world in the evening, you see that
you will not have one minute to squander or slattern away. Nobody ever
lent themselves more than I did, when I was young, to the pleasures and
dissipation of good company. I even did it too much. But then, I can
assure you, that I always found time for serious studies; and, when I
could find it no other way, I took it out of my sleep, for I resolved
always to rise early in the morning, however late I went to bed at night;
and this resolution I have kept so sacred, that, unless when I have been
confined to my bed by illness, I have not, for more than forty years,
ever been in bed at nine o'clock in the morning but commonly up before
eight.

When you are at Berlin, remember to speak German as often as you can, in
company; for everybody there will speak French to you, unless you let
them know that you can speak German, which then they will choose to
speak. Adieu.




LETTER LX

LONDON, December 20, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY: I received last Saturday by three mails, which came in at once,
two letters from Mr. Harte, and yours of the 8th, N. S.

It was I who mistook your meaning, with regard to your German letters,
and not you who expressed it ill. I thought it was the writing of the
German character that took up so much of your time, and therefore I
advised you, by the frequent writing of that character, to make it easy
and familiar to you: But, since it is only the propriety and purity of
the German language which make your writing it so tedious and laborious,
I will tell you I shall not be nice upon that article; and did not expect
that you should yet be master of all the idioms, delicacies, and
peculiarities of that difficult language. That can only come by use,
especially frequent speaking; therefore, when you shall be at Berlin, and
afterward at Turin, where you will meet many Germans, pray take all
opportunities of conversing in German, in order not only to keep what you
have got of that language, but likewise to improve and perfect yourself
in it. As to the characters, you form them very well, and as you yourself
own, better than your English ones; but then let me ask you this
question: Why do you not form your Roman characters better? for I
maintain, that it is in every man's power to write what hand he pleases;
and, consequently, that he ought to write a good one. You form,
particularly, your 'ee' and your 'll' in zigzag, instead of making them
straight, as thus, 'ee', 'll'; a fault very easily mended. You will not,
I believe, be angry with this little criticism, when I tell you, that by
all the accounts I have had of late from Mr. Harte and others, this is
the only criticism that you give me occasion to make. Mr. Harte's last
letter, of the 14th, N. S., particularly, makes me extremely happy, by
assuring me that, in every respect, you do exceedingly well. I am not
afraid, by what I now say, of making you too vain; because I do not think
that a just consciousness and an honest pride of doing well, can be
called vanity; for vanity is either the silly affectation of good
qualities which one has not, or the sillier pride of what does not
deserve commendation in itself. By Mr. Harte's account, you are got very
near the goal of Greek and Latin; and therefore I cannot suppose that, as
your sense increases, your endeavors and your speed will slacken in
finishing the small remains of your course. Consider what lustre and
'eclat' it will give you, when you return here, to be allowed to be the
best scholar, for a gentleman, in England; not to mention the real
pleasure and solid comfort which such knowledge will give you throughout
your whole life. Mr. Harte tells me another thing, which, I own, I did
not expect: it is, that when you read aloud, or repeat parts of plays,
you speak very properly and distinctly. This relieves me from great
uneasiness, which I was under upon account of your former bad
enunciation. Go on, and attend most diligently to this important article.
It is, of all Graces (and they are all necessary), the most necessary
one.

Comte Pertingue, who has been here about a fortnight, far from
disavowing, confirms all that Mr. Harte has said to your advantage. He
thinks that he shall be at Turin much about the time of your arrival
there, and pleases himself with the hopes of being useful to you. Though,
should you get there before him, he says that Comte du Perron, with whom
you are a favorite, will take that care. You see, by this one instance,
and in the course of your life you will see by a million of instances, of
what use a good reputation is, and how swift and advantageous a harbinger
it is, wherever one goes. Upon this point, too, Mr. Harte does you
justice, and tells me that you are desirous of praise from the
praiseworthy. This is a right and generous ambition; and without which, I
fear, few people would deserve praise.

But here 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 complaisance and attention to
fools is prudent, and not mean; as a silent abhorrence of individual
knaves is often necessary and not criminal.

As you will now soon part with Lord Pulteney, with whom, during your stay
together at Leipsig, I suppose you have formed a connection, I imagine
that you will continue it by letters, which I would advise you to do.
They tell me that he is good-natured, and does not want parts; which are
of themselves two good reasons for keeping it up; but there is also a
third reason, which, in the course of the world, is not to be despised:
His father cannot live long, and will leave him an immense fortune;
which, in all events will make him of some consequence; and, if he has
parts into the bargain, of very great consequence; so that his
friendship, may be extremely well worth your cultivating, especially as
it will not cost you above one letter in one month.

I do not know whether this letter will find you at Leipsig: at least, it
is the last that I shall direct there. My next to either you or Mr.
Harte will be directed to Berlin; but as I do not know to what house or
street there, I suppose it will remain at the posthouse till you send for
it. Upon your arrival at Berlin you will send me your particular
direction; and also, pray be minute in your accounts of your reception
there, by those whom I recommend you to, as well as by those to whom they
present you. Remember, too, that you are going to a polite and literate
court, where the Graces will best introduce you.

Adieu. God bless you, and may you continue to deserve my love, as much as
you now enjoy it!

P. S. Lady Chesterfield bids me tell you, that she decides entirely in
your favor against Mr. Grevenkop, and even against herself; for she does
not think that she could, at this time, write either so good a character
or so good German. Pray write her a German letter upon that subject, in
which you may tell her, that, like the rest of the world, you approve of
her judgment, because it is in your favor; and that you true Germans
cannot allow Danes to be competent judges of your language, etc.




LETTER LXI

LONDON, December 30, O. S. 1748.

DEAR BOY: I direct this letter to Berlin, where, I suppose, it will
either find you, or at least wait but a very little time for you. I
cannot help being anxious for your success, at this your first appearance
upon the great stage of the world; for, though the spectators are always
candid enough to give great allowances, and to show great indulgence to a
new actor; yet, from the first impressions which he makes upon them, they
are apt to decide, in their own minds, at least, whether he will ever be
a good one, or not. If he seems to understand what he says, by speaking
it properly; if he is attentive to his part, instead of staring
negligently about him; and if, upon the whole, he seems ambitious to
please, they willingly pass over little awkwardnesses and inaccuracies,
which they ascribe to a commendable modesty in a young and inexperienced
actor. They pronounce that he will be a good one in time; and, by the
encouragement which they give him, make him so the sooner. This, I hope,
will be your case: you have sense enough to understand your part; a
constant attention, and ambition to excel in it, with a careful
observation of the best actors, will inevitably qualify you, if not for
the first, at least for considerable parts.

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 defense, 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; 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 afterward; 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.

As to manners, good-breeding, and the Graces, I have so often entertained
you upon those important subjects, that I can add nothing to what I have
formerly said. Your own good sense will suggest to you the substance of
them; and observation, experience, and good company, the several modes of
them. 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 composition 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
constitution, is the perfection of human nature.

Do what you will at Berlin, provided you do but do something all day
long. All that I desire of you is, that you will never slattern away one
minute in idleness and in doing of nothing. When you are (not) in company,
learn what either books, masters, or Mr. Harte, can teach you; and when
you are in company, learn (what company can only teach you) the
characters and manners of mankind. I really ask your pardon for giving
you this advice; because, if you are a rational creature and thinking
being, as I suppose, and verily believe you are, it must be unnecessary,
and to a certain degree injurious. If I did not know by experience, that
some men pass their whole time in doing nothing, I should not think it
possible for any being, superior to Monsieur Descartes' automatons, to
squander away, in absolute idleness, one single minute of that small
portion of time which is allotted us in this world.

I have lately seen one Mr. Cranmer, a very sensible merchant, who told me
that he had dined with you, and seen you often at Leipsig. And yesterday
I saw an old footman of mine, whom I made a messenger, who told me that
he had seen you last August. You will easily imagine, that I was not the
less glad to see them because they had seen you; and I examined them both
narrowly, in their respective departments; the former as to your mind,
the latter, as to your body. Mr. Cranmer gave me great satisfaction, not
only by what he told me of himself concerning you, but by what he was
commissioned to tell me from Mr. Mascow. As he speaks German perfectly
himself, I asked him how you spoke it; and he assured me very well for
the time, and that a very little more practice would make you perfectly
master of it. The messenger told me that you were much grown, and, to the
best of his guess, within two inches as tall as I am; that you were
plump, and looked healthy and strong; which was all that I could expect,
or hope, from the sagacity of the person.

I send you, my dear child (and you will not doubt it), very sincerely,
the wishes of the season. May you deserve a great number of happy
New-years; and, if you deserve, may you have them. Many New-years,
indeed, you may see, but happy ones you cannot see without deserving
them. These, virtue, honor, and knowledge, alone can merit, alone can
procure, 'Dii tibi dent annos, de te nam cetera sumes', was a pretty
piece of poetical flattery, where it was said: I hope that, in time, it
may be no flattery when said to you. But I assure you, that wherever I
cannot apply the latter part of the line to you with truth, I shall
neither say, think, or wish the former. Adieu!




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Above all things, avoid speaking of yourself
Above the frivolous as below the important and the secret
Abroad but they stay at home all that while
Absolute command of your temper
Abstain from learned ostentation
Absurd term of genteel and fashionable vices
Advice is seldom welcome
Affectation whatsoever in dress
Always look people in the face when you speak to them
Ancients and Moderns
Argumentative, polemical conversations
As willing and as apt to be pleased as anybody
Authority
Better not to seem to understand, than to reply
Bruyere
Cannot understand them, or will not desire to understand them
Cardinal de Retz
Cardinal Virtues, by first degrading them into weaknesses
Cautious how we draw inferences
Chameleon, be able to take every different hue
Cheerful in the countenance, but without laughing
Common sense (which, in truth, very uncommon)
Commonplace observations
Complaisance
Consciousness and an honest pride of doing well
Contempt
Conversation will help you almost as much as books
Conversation-stock being a joint and common property
Converse with his inferiors without insolence
Deriving all our actions from the source of self-love
Deserve a little, and you shall have but a little
Desirous of praise from the praiseworthy
Dexterity enough to conceal a truth without telling a lie
Difficulties seem to them, impossibilities
Distinguish between the useful and the curious
Do as you would be done by
Do what you will but do something all day long
Either do not think, or do not love to think
Equally forbid insolent contempt, or low envy and jealousy
Even where you are sure, seem rather doubtful
Every virtue, has its kindred vice or weakness
Fiddle-faddle stories, that carry no information along with the
Flattery of women
Forge accusations against themselves
Forgive, but not approve, the bad
Frank, open, and ingenuous exterior, with a prudent interior
Gain the affections as well as the esteem
Generosity often runs into profusion
Go to the bottom of things
Good company
Graces: Without us, all labor is vain
Great learning; which, if not accompanied with sound judgment
Great numbers of people met together, animate each other
Habit and prejudice
Half done or half known
Hardly any body good for every thing
Have a will and an opinion of your own, and adhere
Have but one set of jokes to live upon
He will find it out of himself without your endeavors
Heart has such an influence over the understanding
Helps only, not as guides
Historians
Honest error is to be pitied, not ridiculed
Honestest man loves himself best
How much you have to do; and how little time to do it in
I hope, I wish, I doubt, and fear alternately
I shall always love you as you shall deserve
If you would convince others, seem open to conviction yourself
Impertinent insult upon custom and fashion
Inaction at your age is unpardonable
Jealous of being slighted
Judge them all by their merits, but not by their ages
Keep good company, and company above yourself
Know their real value, and how much they are generally overrated
Knowledge is like power in this respect
Knowledge of a scholar with the manners of a courtier
Laughing, I must particularly warn you against it
Lazy mind, and the trifling, frivolous mind
Learning
Let me see more of you in your letters
Little minds mistake little objects for great ones
Livery
Loud laughter is the mirth of the mob
Low buffoonery, or silly accidents, that always excite laughter
Low company, most falsely and impudently, call pleasure
Luther's disappointed avarice
Make yourself necessary
Manner of doing things is often more important
Manners must adorn knowledge
May not forget with ease what you have with difficulty learned
Mimicry
More one sees, the less one either wonders or admires
More you know, the modester you should be
Mortifying inferiority in knowledge, rank, fortune
Most long talkers single out some one unfortunate man in compan
Much sooner forgive an injustice than an insult
Mystical nonsense
Name that we leave behind at one place often gets before us
Neglect them in little things, they will leave you in great
Negligence of it implies an indifference about pleasing
Neither retail nor receive scandal willingly
Never quit a subject till you are thoroughly master of it
Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than the people you are wit
Never slattern away one minute in idleness
Never to speak of yourself at all
Not one minute of the day in which you do nothing at all
Not to admire anything too much
Oftener led by their hearts than by their understandings
Out of livery; which makes them both impertinent and useless
Overvalue what we do not know
Pay your own reckoning, but do not treat the whole company
People angling for praise
People never desire all till they have gotten a great deal
Plain notions of right and wrong
Planted while young, that degree of knowledge now my refuge
Pleased to some degree by showing a desire to please
Pleasing in company is the only way of being pleased in yourself
Pleasure and business with equal inattention
Prefer useful to frivolous conversations
Pride remembers it forever
Prudent reserve
Pyrrhonism
Reason ought to direct the whole, but seldom does
Reformation
Refuge of people who have neither wit nor invention of their ow
Refuse more gracefully than other people could grant
Repeating
Represent, but do not pronounce
Rochefoucault
Rough corners which mere nature has given to the smoothest
Scandal: receiver is always thought, as bad as the thief
Scarcely any body who is absolutely good for nothing
Scrupled no means to obtain his ends
Secrets
Seeming frankness with a real reserve
Seeming openness is prudent
Self-love draws a thick veil between us and our faults
Serious without being dull
Shakespeare
Shepherds and ministers are both men
Some complaisance and attention to fools is prudent, and not me
Some men pass their whole time in doing nothing
Something or other is to be got out of everybody
Swearing
Take nothing for granted, upon the bare authority of the author
Take, rather than give, the tone of the company you are in
Talk often, but never long
Talk sillily upon a subject of other people's
Talking of either your own or other people's domestic affairs
Tell me whom you live with, and I will tell you who you are
Tell stories very seldom
Tenderness and affection with which, while you deserve them
The best have something bad, and something little
The worst have something good, and sometimes something great
Thin veil of Modesty drawn before Vanity
Thoroughly, not superficially
To know people's real sentiments, I trust much more to my eyes
Unopened, because one title in twenty has been omitted
Value of moments, when cast up, is immense
Vanity, that source of many of our follies
Weaknesses
What displeases or pleases you in others
What you feel pleases you in them
When well dressed for the day think no more of it afterward
Will not so much as hint at our follies
Witty without satire or commonplace
Women
Wrongs are often forgiven; but contempt never is
You had much better hold your tongue than them
Your merit and your manners can alone raise you