tion, etc., and I do not extend it to the little frailties of youth flowing from high spirits and warm blood. It would ill become you at your age to declaim against them, and sententiously censure an accidental excess of the table, a frolic, an inadvertency; no, keep as free from them yourself as you can, but say nothing against them in others. They certainly mend by time, often by reason; and a man's worldly character is not affected by them, provided it be pure in all other respects. To come now to a point of much less but yet of very great consequence at your first setting out. Be extremely upon your guard against vanity, the common failing of inexperienced youth; but particularly against that kind of vanity that dubs a man a coxcomb, a character which, once acquired, is more indelible than that of the priesthood. It is not to be imagined by how many different ways vanity defeats its own purposes. Some men decide peremptorily upon every subject, betray their ignorance upon many, and show a disgusting presumption upon the rest. . . . Others flatter their vanity by little extraneous objects, which have not the least relation to themselves, such as being descended from, related to, or acquainted with people of distinguished merit and eminent characters. They talk perpetually of their grandfather such-a-one, their uncle such-a-one and their intimate friend Mr. Such-a-one, with whom possibly they are hardly acquainted. But admitting it all to be as they would have it, what then? Have they the more merit for those accidents? Certainly not. On the contrary, their taking up adventitious proves their want of intrinsic merit; a rich man never borrows. Take this rule for granted, as a never-failing one, that you must never seem to affect the character in which you 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. XLIX. HOW TO READ HISTORY, AND HOW TO CONVERSE WITH ADVANTAGE. - A MODEST ASSURANCE. LONDON, Nov. 1, O. S. 1750. MY DEAR FRIEND, While you are in France, I could wish that the hours you allot for historical amusement should be entirely devoted to the history of France. One always reads history to most advantage in that country to which it is relative, not only books but persons being ever at hand to solve doubts and clear up difficulties. I do by no means advise you to throw away your time in ransacking, like a dull antiquarian, the minute and unimportant parts of remote and fabulous times. Let block heads read what blockheads wrote. Conversation in France, if you have the address and dexterity to turn it upon useful subjects, will exceedingly improve your historical knowledge, for people there, however classically ignorant they may be, think it a shame to be ignorant of the history of their own country; they read that, if they read nothing else, and having often read nothing else are proud of having read that, and talk of it willingly; even the women are well instructed in that sort of reading. I am far from meaning by this that you should always be talking wisely in company of books, history, and matters of knowledge. There are many companies which you will and ought to keep, where such conversations would be misplaced and ill-timed. Your own good sense must distinguish the company and the time. You must trifle only with triflers and be serious only with the serious, but dance to those who pipe. "Cur in theatrum Cato severe venisti?" was justly said to an old man; how much more so would it be to one of your age ! From the moment that you are dressed and go out, pocket all your knowledge with your watch, and never pull it out in company unless desired; the producing of the one unasked implies that you are weary of the company, and 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. That is the occasion in which manners, dexterity, address, and the undefinable je ne sais quoi triumph; if properly exerted their conquest is sure, and the more lasting for not being perceived. Remember that this is not only your first and greatest, but ought to be almost your only object, while you are in France. I know that many of your countrymen are apt to call the freedom and vivacity of the French petulancy and ill breeding; but should you think so, I desire upon many accounts that you will not say so. I admit that it may be so in some instances of petits maltres étourdis, and in some young people unbroken to the world; but I can assure you that you will find it much otherwise with people of a certain rank and age, upon whose model you will do very well to form yourself. We call their steady assurance, impudence. Why? Only because what we call modesty is awkward bashfulness and mauvaise honte. For my part I see no impudence, but on the contrary infinite utility and advantage, in presenting one's self with the same coolness and unconcern in any and every company; till one can do that, I am very sure that one can never present one's self well. Whatever is done under concern and embarrassment, must be ill done; and till a man is absolutely easy and unconcerned in every company he will never be thought to have kept good, nor be very welcome in it. A steady assur ance with seeming modesty is possibly the most useful qualification that a man can have in every part of life. A man would certainly make a very considerable fortune and figure in the world, whose modesty and timidity should often, as bashfulness always does, put him in the deplorable and lamentable situation of the pious Æneas, when obstupuit, steteruntque comæ, et vox faucibus hæsit. Fortune, born to be controlled, Assurance and intrepidity, under the white banner of seeming modesty, clear the way for merit, that would otherwise be discouraged by difficulties in its journey; whereas barefaced impudence is the noisy and blustering harbinger of a worthless and senseless usurper. You will think that I shall never have done recommending to you these exterior worldly accomplishments, and you will think right, for I never shall. They are of too great consequence to you for me to be indifferent or negligent about them; the shining part of your future figure and fortune depends now wholly upon them. These are the acquisitions which must give efficacy and success to those you have already made. To have it said and believed that you are the most learned man in England would be no more than was said and believed. of Dr. Bentley; but to have it said at the same time that you are also the best bred, most polite, and agreeable man in the kingdom, would be such a happy composition of a character as I never yet |