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<h2> LETTER CLI </h2>
<h3> GREENWICH, July 8, O. S. 1751. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: The last mail brought me your letter of the 3d July, N. S.
I am glad that you are so well with Colonel Yorke, as to be let into
secret correspondences. Lord Albemarle's reserve to you is, I believe,
more owing to his secretary than to himself; for you seem to be much in
favor with him; and possibly too HE HAS NO VERY SECRET LETTERS to
communicate. However, take care not to discover the least dissatisfaction
upon this score: make the proper acknowledgments to Colonel Yorke, for
what he does show you; but let neither Lord Albemarle nor his people
perceive the least coldness on your part, upon account of what they do not
show you. It is very often necessary, not to manifest all one feels. Make
your court to, and connect yourself as much as possible with Colonel
Yorke; he may be of great use to you hereafter; and when you take leave,
not only offer to bring over any letters or packets, by way of security;
but even ask, as a favor, to be the carrier of a letter from him to his
father, the Chancellor. 'A propos' of your coming here; I confess that I
am weakly impatient for it, and think a few days worth getting; I would,
therefore, instead of the 25th of next month, N. S., which was the day
that I some time ago appointed for your leaving Paris, have you set out on
Friday the 20th of August, N. S.; in consequence of which you will be at
Calais some time on the Sunday following, and probably at Dover within
four-and-twenty hours afterward. If you land in the morning, you may, in a
postchaise, get to Sittingborne that day; if you come on shore in the
evening, you can only get to Canterbury, where you will be better lodged
than at Dover. I will not have you travel in the night, nor fatigue and
overheat yourself by running on fourscore miles the moment you land. You
will come straight to Blackheath, where I shall be ready to meet you, and
which is directly upon the Dover road to London; and we will go to town
together, after you have rested yourself a day or two here. All the other
directions, which I gave you in my former letter, hold still the same.
But, notwithstanding this regulation, should you have any particular
reasons for leaving Paris two or three days sooner or later, than the
above mentioned, 'vous etes maitre'. Make all your arrangements at Paris
for about a six weeks stay in England at farthest.</p>
<p>I had a letter the other day from Lord Huntingdon, of which one-half at
least was your panegyric; it was extremely welcome to me from so good a
hand. Cultivate that friendship; it will do you honor and give you
strength. Connections, in our mixed parliamentary government, are of great
use.</p>
<p>I send you here inclosed the particular price of each of the mohairs; but
I do not suppose that you will receive a shilling for anyone of them.
However, if any of your ladies should take an odd fancy to pay, the
shortest way, in the course of business, is for you to keep the money, and
to take so much less from Sir John Lambert in your next draught upon him.</p>
<p>I am very sorry to hear that Lady Hervey is ill. Paris does not seem to
agree with her; she used to have great health here. 'A propos' of her;
remember, when you are with me, not to mention her but when you and I are
quite alone, for reasons which I will tell you when we meet: but this is
only between you and me; and I desire that you will not so much as hint it
to her, or to anybody else.</p>
<p>If old Kurzay goes to the valley of Jehoshaphat, I cannot help it; it will
be an ease to our friend Madame Montconseil, who I believe maintains her,
and a little will not satisfy her in any way.</p>
<p>Remember to bring your mother some little presents; they need not be of
value, but only marks of your affection and duty for one who has always
been tenderly fond of you. You may bring Lady Chesterfield a little Martin
snuffbox of about five Louis; and you need bring over no other presents;
you and I not wanting 'les petits presens pour entretenir l'amitee'.</p>
<p>Since I wrote what goes before, I have talked you over minutely with Lord
Albemarle, who told me, that he could very sincerely commend you upon
every article but one; but upon that one you were often joked, both by him
and others. I desired to know what that was; he laughed and told me it was
the article of dress, in which you were exceedingly negligent. Though he
laughed, I can assure you that it is no laughing matter for you; and you
will possibly be surprised when I assert (but, upon my word, it is
literally true), that to be very well dressed is of much more importance
to you, than all the Greek you know will, be of these thirty years.
Remember that the world is now your only business; and that you must adopt
its customs and manners, be they silly or be they not. To neglect your
dress, is an affront to all the women you keep company with; as it implies
that you do not think them worth that attention which everybody else doth;
they mind dress, and you will never please them if you neglect yours; and
if you do not please the women, you will not please half the men you
otherwise might. It is the women who put a young fellow in fashion even
with the men. A young fellow ought to have a certain fund of coquetry;
which should make him try all the means of pleasing, as much as any
coquette in Europe can do. Old as I am, and little thinking of women, God
knows, I am very far from being negligent of my dress; and why? From
conformity to custom, and out of decency to men, who expect that degree of
complaisance. I do not, indeed, wear feathers and red heels, which would
ill suit my age; but I take care to have my clothes well made, my wig well
combed and powdered, my linen and person extremely clean. I even allow my
footman forty shillings a year extraordinary, that they may be spruce and
neat. Your figure especially, which from its stature cannot be very
majestic and interesting, should be the more attended to in point of dress
as it cannot be 'imposante', it should be 'gentile, aimable, bien mise'.
It will not admit of negligence and carelessness.</p>
<p>I believe Mr. Hayes thinks that you have slighted him a little of late,
since you have got into so much other company. I do not by any means blame
you for not frequenting his house so much as you did at first, before you
had got into so many other houses more entertaining and more instructing
than his; on the contrary, you do very well; but, however, as he was
extremely civil to you, take care to be so to him, and make up in manner
what you omit in matter. See him, dine with him before you come away, and
ask his commands for England.</p>
<p>Your triangular seal is done, and I have given it to an English gentleman,
who sets out in a week for Paris, and who will deliver it to Sir John
Lambert for you.</p>
<p>I cannot conclude this letter without returning again to the showish, the
ornamental, the shining parts of your character; which, if you neglect,
upon my word you will render the solid ones absolutely useless; nay, such
is the present turn of the world, that some valuable qualities are even
ridiculous, if not accompanied by the genteeler accomplishments.
Plainness, simplicity, and quakerism, either in dress or manners, will by
no means do; they must both be laced and embroidered; speaking, or writing
sense, without elegance and turn, will be very little persuasive; and the
best figure in the world, without air and address, will be very
ineffectual. Some pedants may have told you that sound sense and learning
stand in, need of no ornaments; and, to support that assertion, elegantly
quote the vulgar proverb, that GOOD WINE NEEDS NO BUSH; but surely the
little experience you have already had of the world must have convinced
you that the contrary of that assertion is true. All those accomplishments
are now in your power; think of them, and of them only. I hope you
frequent La Foire St. Laurent, which I see is now open; you will improve
more by going there with your mistress, than by staying at home and
reading Euclid with your geometry master. Adieu. 'Divertissez-vous, il n'y
a rien de tel'.</p>
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