up, ,10 and you have a great many different things to do; but remember that you had much better11 do half of them well, and leave the other half undone, than do them all indifferently. I hope you won't let me see such a bad hard again, in which expectation I remain, DEAR COUSIN: Yours affectionately, 106. CHESTERFIELD. I am just setting out for Wells, and have not time to say as much as I would on1 the occasion upon which2 I now write to you. I hear that Mr. Dandy and you have lately contracted such an intimacy that you are hardly ever asunder, and as I know his morals are not the best, nor his circumstances the most happy, I fear he will, if he has not already done it, let you see that he better knows what he does in seeking your acquaintance, than you do in cultivating his. I am far from desiring to abridge you in any necessary or innocent liberty, or to prescribe too much to your choice of a friend; nor am I against your being complaisant to strangers; for this gentleman's acquaintance is not yet a month old with you; but you must not think that every man, whose conversation is agreeable, is fit9 to be immediately treated as a friend. Of all sorts of friendship, hastily contracted ones promise the least duration or satisfaction, as they commonly arise from design on one side, and weakness on the other. True friendship must be the effect of long and mutual esteem and knowledge. It ought to have for its cement an equality of years, a similarity of manners and pretty much a parity in circumstances and degree (Nang). But, generally speaking,1o an openness to a stranger carries with it strong marks of indiscretion and not seldom ends in repentance. For these reasons, I recommend you to be upon your guard and proceed cautiously in this new alliance. Mr. Dandy has vivacity and humor enough to please any man12 of a light turn,12 but were I to give my judgment of him, I should pronounce13 him fitter for the tea-table than the cabinet. He is smart, but very superficial, and treats all serious subjects with a contempt too natural to bad minds; and I know more young men than one of whose good opinion he has taken advantage, and has made them wiser, though at their own expense, than he found them. The caution I here give you is the pure effect of my experience in life, some knowledge of your new associate, and my affection for you. The use you make of it will determine whether you merit this concern from . Having myself suffered what you are now suffering, I . well know the weight of your distress, how much need' you have of comfort, and how little comfort can be given. A loss such as yours lacerates the mind, and breaks the whole system of purposes and hopes. It leaves a dismal vacuity in life, which affords nothing on which the affecions can fix, or to which endeavor3 may be directed. Alı this I have known, and it is now, in the vicissitude or things, your turn to know it. But in the condition of mortal beings one must lose one another. What would be the wretchedness of life if there was not always something in view, some Being immutable and unfailing, to whose mercy man must have recourse! Here we must rest. The greatest Being is the most benevolent. "We must not grieve for the dead, as mer 1 without hope," because we know that they are in His hand. We have not indeed leisure to grieve long, because we are hastening to follow them. Your race and mine have been interrupted by many obstacles, but we must humbly hope for a happy end. MY DEAR FRIEND: I am, sir, etc. 108. I understand1 that you are in the habit of going to bed early, and that you don't get up till breakfast is ready. Is that true? I can hardly believe it, because I should think you know better how to employ your time. Man lives but3 as long as he is awake and does something useful. If you snore away twelve hours out of every twenty-four, you live but one-half of your life, and he who reaches the age of fifty, of which he has passed one-half in bed, cannot be said to have lived more than fifteen years, because he spent the rest of his time in eating, drinking, playing, dressing and other more or less. useless things. What shall we be able to say in justification of such an abuse of our time? You will find that six or seven hours out of twenty-four are quite sufficient to recover strength against the fatigues of the following day. The less you sleep, the longer you live, and in employing your time usefully consists the great art of prolonging life. Take9 my advice: try to get rid1o of that bad habit. It can but3 be conducive to your health and promote your own interest. Your well-wisher,"1 JOHN BENNET, HONORED SIR: 109. I wrote to you by Mr. Bright, but not having received any answer makes me very uneasy. Although I have been as economical as possible, yet I find the pocket-money you allowed me to take monthly from Mr. Walter is not sufficient to defray my necessary expenses, though it was so at first. London is such a place that unless one maintains1 something of a character,' one is sure to be treated with contempt and pointed at as an object of3 ridicule. I assure you, sir, that I detest extravagance as much as you can desire, and the small sum which I ask as an addition to your former allowance is only to promote my own interest, which I am sure you have as much at heart as any parent possibly can. My employer will testify that my conduct has been consistent with the strictest rules of morality. I submit to your judgment what you think proper to allow me in future. I did not choose to mention my want of money to Mr. W, and for that reason have not taken anything more than what you ordered. I hope you will not be offended with what I have written, as I shall always consider myself happy in performing my duty and securing to myself the favor of my honored parents. I honored sir, your DEAR BOY: affectionate son, 110. Lord Chesterfield to his Son. ALBERT. People of your age have commonly an unguarded frank. ness about them, which makes them the easy prey and bubble of the artful and the experienced; they look upon every knave or fool who tells them that he is their friend, to be really so; and pay that profession of simulated friendship with an indiscreet and unbounded confidence, Beware, there always to their loss, often to their ruin. fore, now that you are coming into the world, of these false friendships. Receive them with great civility, but with great incredulity too; and pay them with compli ments, but not with confidence. Do not let your vanity and self-love make you suppose that people become your friends at first sight, or even upon a short acquaintance. Real friendship is9 a slow grower,9 and never thrives unless ingrafted upon a stock of known and reciprocal merit. There is another kind of nominal friendship among young people, which is warm for the time,10 but, byll good luck, of short duration. This friendship is hastily produced by 12 their being accidentally thrown together and pursuing the same course of riot and debauchery. A fine friendship, truly! and well cemented by levity and drunkenness. It should rather be called a conspiracy against morals and good manners, and be punished as such by the civil magistrate.13 However, they have the impudence and the folly to call this confederacy a friendship. They lend one another money for bad purposes; they engage1 in quarrels,15 offensive15 and defensive,15 for their accomplices; they tell one another all they know, and often more too, when of a sudden some17 accident disperses them, and they think no more of18 each other, unless19 it be19 to betray their imprudent confidence and laugh at it.20 Remember to make a great difference between companions and friends; for a very complaisant and agreeable companion may be a very improper and a very dangerous friend. . . . I long to hear from my several correspondents at Leipsic of your arrival there, and what impression you make on them at first; for I have Arguses with a hundred eyes each, who will watch you narrowly, and relate to me faithfully. My accounts22 will certainly be true; it depends upon you entirely of what kind they shall be. Adieu, |