It is quite otherwise with comedy, which should be mere common life and not one jot bigger. Every character should speak upon the stage, not only what it would utter in the situation there represented, but in the same manner in which it would express it. For which reason I cannot allow rhymes in comedy, unless they were put into the mouth and came out of the mouth of a mad poet. But it is impossible to deceive one's self enough (nor is it the least necessary in comedy) to suppose a dull rogue of a usurer cheating, or gros Jean blundering, in the finest rhymes in the world.

As for operas they are essentially too absurd and extravagant to mention. I look upon them as a magic scene contrived to please the eyes and the ears, at the expense of the understanding; and I consider singing, rhyming, and chiming heroes and princesses and philosophers, as I do the hills, the trees, the birds, and the beasts who amicably joined in one common country-dance to the irresistible turn of Orpheus's lyre. 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.

whether of religion, government, morals, etc., perfec

tion is the object always proposed, though possibly unattainable, hitherto at least certainly unattained. However, those who aim carefully at the mark itself will unquestionably come nearer it than those who from despair, negligence, or indolence leave to chance the work of skill. This maxim holds equally true in common life; those who aim at perfection will come infinitely nearer it than those desponding or indolent spirits who foolishly say to themselves, "Nobody is perfect; perfection is unattainable; to attempt it is chimerical; I shall do as well as others; why then should I give myself trouble to be what I never can, and what according to the common course of things I need not be, -perfect?"

I am very sure that I need not point out to you the weakness and the folly of this reasoning, if it deserves the name of reasoning. It would discourage and put a stop to the exertion of any one of our faculties. On the contrary a man of sense and spirit says to himself, "Though the point of perfection may (considering the imperfection of our nature) be unattainable, my care, my endeavors, my attention, shall not be wanting to get as near it as I can. I will approach it every day; possibly I may arrive at it at last; at least-what I am sure is in my own power I will not be distanced." Many fools (speaking of you) say to me, "What! would you have him perfect?" I answer, Why not? What hurt would it do him or me? "Oh, but that is impossible," say they; I reply I am not sure of that: perfection in the abstract I admit to be unattainable, but what is commonly called perfection in a char

acter I maintain to be attainable, and not only that but in every man's power. "He has," continue they, "a good head, a good heart, a good fund of knowledge, which would increase daily: what would you have more?" Why, I would have everything more that can adorn and complete a character. Will it do his head, his heart, or his knowledge any harm to have the utmost delicacy of manners, the most shining advantages of air and address, the most endearing attentions and the most engaging graces? "But as he is," say they, "he is loved wherever he is known." I am very glad of it, say I; but I would have him be liked before he is known and loved afterwards. I would have him by his first abord and address, make people wish to know him, and inclined to love him; he will save a great deal of time by it. "Indeed," reply they, "you are too nice, too exact, and lay too much stress upon things that are of very little consequence." Indeed, rejoin I, you know very little of the nature of mankind if you take those things to be of little consequence; one cannot be too attentive to them; it is they that always engage the heart, of which the understanding is commonly the bubble. And I would much rather that he erred in a point of grammar, of history, of philosophy, etc., than in point of manners and address. "But consider, he is very young: all this will come in time." I hope so; but that time must be when he is young or it will never be at all; the right pli must be taken young, or it will never be easy or seem natural. "Come, come," say they (substituting as is frequently done, assertion instead of

argument), "depend upon it he will do very well; and you have a great deal of reason to be satisfied with him." I hope and believe he will do well but I would have him do better than well. I am very well pleased with him but I would be more, -I would be proud of him. I would have him have lustre as well as weight. "Did you ever know anybody that re-united all these talents?" Yes, I did; Lord Bolingbroke joined all the politeness, the manners, and the graces of a courtier to the solidity of a statesman and to the learning of a pedant. He was omnis homo; and pray what should hinder my boy from being so too, if he has as I think he has all the other qualifications that you allow him? Nothing can hinder him but neglect of or inattention to those objects which his own good sense must tell him are of infinite consequence to him, and which therefore I will not suppose him capable of either neglecting or despising.

This (to tell you the whole truth) is the result of a controversy that passed yesterday between Lady Hervey and myself, upon your subject and almost in the very words. I submit the decision of it to yourself; let your own good sense determine it, and make you act in consequence of that determination. The receipt to make this composition is short and infallible; here I give it you :

Take variety of the best company wherever you are; be minutely attentive to every word and action; imitate respectively those whom you observe to be distinguished and considered for any one accomplishment; then mix all those several

accomplishments together and serve them up your

self to others.

LVI.

THE STUDY OF THE WORLD. - COMPANY THE
ONLY SCHOOL.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

LONDON, March 16, 0. s. 1752.

How do you go on with the necessary of all studies,

most useful and most the study of the world? Do you find that you gain knowledge; and does your daily experience at once extend and demonstrate your improvement? You will possibly ask me how you can judge of that yourself. I will tell you a sure way of knowing. Examine yourself and see whether your notions of the world are changed by experience from what they were two years ago in theory; for that alone is one favorable symptom of improvement. At that age (I remember it in myself) every notion that one forms is erroneous; one has seen few models and those none of the best to form one's self upon. One thinks that everything is to be carried by spirit and vigor; that art is meanness, and that versatility and complaisance are the refuge of pusillanimity and weakness. This most mistaken opinion gives an indelicacy, 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