<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0151" id="link2H_4_0151"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CXLIX </h2>
<h3> LONDON, June 24, O. S. 1751 </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: Air, address, manners, and graces are of such infinite
advantage to whoever has them, and so peculiarly and essentially necessary
for you, that now, as the time of our meeting draws near, I tremble for
fear I should not find you possessed of them; and, to tell you the truth,
I doubt you are not yet sufficiently convinced for their importance. There
is, for instance, your intimate friend, Mr. H——-, who with
great merit, deep knowledge, and a thousand good qualities, will never
make a figure in the world while he lives. Why? Merely for want of those
external and showish accomplishments, which he began the world too late to
acquire; and which, with his studious and philosophical turn, I believe he
thinks are not worth his attention. He may, very probably, make a figure
in the republic of letters, but he had ten thousand times better make a
figure as a man of the world and of business in the republic of the United
Provinces, which, take my word for it, he never will.</p>
<p>As I open myself, without the least reserve, whenever I think that my
doing so can be of any use to you, I will give you a short account of
myself. When I first came into the world, which was at the age you are of
now, so that, by the way, you have got the start of me in that important
article by two or three years at least,—at nineteen I left the
University of Cambridge, where I was an absolute pedant; when I talked my
best, I quoted Horace; when I aimed at being facetious, I quoted Martial;
and when I had a mind to be a fine gentleman, I talked Ovid. I was
convinced that none but the ancients had common sense; that the classics
contained everything that was either necessary, useful, or ornamental to
men; and I was not without thoughts of wearing the 'toga virilis' of the
Romans, instead of the vulgar and illiberal dress of the moderns. With
these excellent notions I went first to The Hague, where, by the help of
several letters of recommendation, I was soon introduced into all the best
company; and where I very soon discovered that I was totally mistaken in
almost every one notion I had entertained. Fortunately, I had a strong
desire to please (the mixed result of good-nature and a vanity by no means
blamable), and was sensible that I had nothing but the desire. I therefore
resolved, if possible, to acquire the means, too. I studied attentively
and minutely the dress, the air, the manner, the address, and the turn of
conversation of all those whom I found to be the people in fashion, and
most generally allowed to please. I imitated them as well as I could; if I
heard that one man was reckoned remarkably genteel, I carefully watched
his dress, motions and attitudes, and formed my own upon them. When I
heard of another, whose conversation was agreeable and engaging, I
listened and attended to the turn of it. I addressed myself, though 'de
tres mauvaise grace', to all the most fashionable fine ladies; confessed,
and laughed with them at my own awkwardness and rawness, recommending
myself as an object for them to try their skill in forming. By these
means, and with a passionate desire of pleasing everybody, I came by
degrees to please some; and, I can assure you, that what little figure I
have made in the world, has been much more owing to that passionate desire
of pleasing universally than to any intrinsic merit or sound knowledge I
might ever have been master of. My passion for pleasing was so strong (and
I am very glad it was so), that I own to you fairly, I wished to make
every woman I saw in love with me, and every man I met with admire me.
Without this passion for the object, I should never have been so attentive
to the means; and I own I cannot conceive how it is possible for any man
of good-nature and good sense to be without this passion. Does not
good-nature incline us to please all those we converse with, of whatever
rank or station they may be? And does not good sense and common
observation, show of what infinite use it is to please? Oh! but one may
please by the good qualities of the heart, and the knowledge of the head,
without that fashionable air, address and manner, which is mere tinsel. I
deny it. A man may be esteemed and respected, but I defy him to please
without them. Moreover, at your age, I would not have contented myself
with barely pleasing; I wanted to shine and to distinguish myself in the
world as a man of fashion and gallantry, as well as business. And that
ambition or vanity, call it what you please, was a right one; it hurt
nobody, and made me exert whatever talents I had. It is the spring of a
thousand right and good things.</p>
<p>I was talking you over the other day with one very much your friend, and
who had often been with you, both at Paris and in Italy. Among the
innumerable questions which you may be sure I asked him concerning you, I
happened to mention your dress (for, to say the truth, it was the only
thing of which I thought him a competent judge) upon which he said that
you dressed tolerably well at Paris; but that in Italy you dressed so ill,
that he used to joke with you upon it, and even to tear your clothes. Now,
I must tell you, that at your age it is as ridiculous not to be very well
dressed, as at my age it would be if I were to wear a white feather and
red-heeled shoes. Dress is one of various ingredients that contribute to
the art of pleasing; it pleases the eyes at least, and more especially of
women. Address yourself to the senses, if you would please; dazzle the
eyes, soothe and flatter the ears of mankind; engage their hearts, and let
their reason do its worst against you. 'Suaviter in modo' is the great
secret. Whenever you find yourself engaged insensibly, in favor of anybody
of no superior merit nor distinguished talents, examine, and see what it
is that has made those impressions upon you: and you will find it to be
that 'douceur', that gentleness of manners, that air and address, which I
have so often recommended to you; and from thence draw this obvious
conclusion, that what pleases you in them, will please others in you; for
we are all made of the same clay, though some of the lumps are a little
finer, and some a little coarser; but in general, the surest way to judge
of others, is to examine and analyze one's self thoroughly. When we meet I
will assist you in that analysis, in which every man wants some assistance
against his own self-love. Adieu.</p>
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