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take all opportunities of conversing in German, in order not only to keep what you have got of that language, but likewise to improve and perfect your. self in it. As to the characters, you form them very well, and as you yourself own, better than your English ones; but then let me ask you this question; Why do you not form your Roman characters better? for I maintain, that it is in every man's

power to write what hand he pleases, and consequently that he ought to write a good one. You form, particularly, your e and your l in zigzag, instead of making them straight, a fault very easily mended. You will not, I believe, be angry with this little cri: ticism, when I tell you, that, by all the accounts I have had of late from Mr Harte and others, this is the only criticism that you give me occasion to make. Mr. Harte's last letter of the 14th, N. S. particularly, makes me extremely happy, by assuring me, that in every respect you do extremely well. I am not afraid, by what I now say, of making you too vain; because I do not think that a just con. sciousness, and an honest pride of doing well, can be called vanity; for vanity is either the silly affectation of good qualities which one has not, or the sil. lier pride of what does not deserve commendation in itself. By Mr. Harte's account you are got very near the goal of Greek and Latin, and therefore I cannot suppose that, as your sense increases, your endeavours and your speed will slacken, in finishing the small remains of your course. Consider what lustre and éclat it will give you, when you return here, to be allowed to be the best scholar, of a gen. tleman, in England; not to mention the real pleasure and solid comfort which such knowledge will give you throughout your whole life. Mr. Harte tells me another thing, which I own I did not expect; it is, that when you read aloud, or repeat parts of plays, you speak very properly and distinctly. This relieves me from great uneasiness, which I was vader upon account of your former bad enunciation. Go on, and attend most diligently to this important article. It is, of all the graces and they are all necessary), the most necessary one

Comte Pertingue, who has been here about a fortnight, far from disavowing, confirms all that Mr. Harte has said to your advantage. He thinks he shall be at Turin much about the time of your arrival there, and pleases himself with the hopes of being useful to you: though, should you get there before him, he says that Comte du Perron, with whom you are a farourite, will take that care. You see by this one instance, and in the course of your hife

you will see by a million of instances, of what use a good reputation is, and how swift and advantageous a harbinger it is, wherever one goes. Upon this point too Mr. Harte does you justice, and tells me, that you are desirous of praise from the praiseworthy; this is a right and generous ambition, and without which, I fear, few people would deserve praise.

But here let me, as an old stager upon the theatre of the world, suggest one consideration to you, which is, to extend your desire of praise a little begond the strictly praise-worthy, or else you may be apt to discover too much contempt for at least three parts in five of the world, who will never forgive it you. In the mass of mankind, I fear, there is too great a majority of fools and knaves, who singly, from their number, must to a certain degree be respected, though they are by no means respectable. And a man, who will show every knave or fool, that he thinks him such, will engage in a most ruinous war, against numbers much superior to those that he and his allies can bring into the field. Abhor a krave, and pity a fool, in your heart; but let neither of them unnecessarily see that you do so. Some complaisance and attention to fools is prudent, and not mean : as a silent abhorrence of individual knaves is oftep necessary, and not criminal.

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As you will now soon part with Lord Pulteney, with whom, during your stay together at Leipsig, I suppose you have formed a connexion, I imagine that you will continue it by letters, which I would advise you to do. They tell me he is good-natured, and does not want parts; which are of themselves two good reasons for keeping it up; but there is also a third reason, which in the course of the world is not to be despised : his father canuot live long, and will leave him an immense fortune, which, in all events, will make him of some consequence, and, if he has parts into the bargain, of very great consequence; so that his friendship may be extremely well worth your cultivating, especially as it will not cost you above one letter in one month.

I do not know whether this letter will find you at Leipsig; at least it is the last I shall direct there. My next to either you or Mr. Harte will be directed to Berlin; but as I do not know to what house or street there, I suppose it will remain at the posthouse till you send for it. Upon your arrival at Berlin you will send me your particular direction, and also pray be minute in your accounts of your reception there, by those whom I recommend

you to, as wel

as by those to wh they present you. Remember too, that you are going to a polite and literate court, where the graces will best introduce you.

Adieu. God bless you! and may you continue to deserve my love as much as you now enjoy it!

P.S. Lady Chesterfield bids me tell you, that she decides entirely in your favour, against Mr. Grevenkop, and even against herself; for she does not think that she could, at this time, write either so good a character, or so good German. Pray write ler a German letter upon that subject, in which you may tell her, that, like the rest of the world, you approve of her judgement, because it is in

your favour; and that you true Germans cannot allow Danes to be competent judges of your language, &c.

LETTER CLXXIII.

London, December 30, 0. S. 1748 DEAR BOY, I DIRECT this letter to Berlin, where I suppose

it will either find you, or at least wait but a very little time for you. I cannot help being anxious for your success at this your first appearance upon the great stage of the world; for though the spectators are always candid enough to give great allowances, and to show great indulgence, to a new actor ; yet, from the first impressions which he makes upon them, they are apt to decide, in their own minds at least, whether he will ever be a good one or not : if be seems to understand what he says, by speaking it properly; if he is attentive to bis part, instead of staring negligently about; and if, upon the whole, he seems ambitious to please, they willingly pass over, little awkwardnesses and inaccuracies, which they ascribe to a commendable modesty in a young and unexperienced actor. They pronounce that he will be a good one in time; and, by the encouragement which they give him, make him so the sooner. This I hope will be your case: you have sense enough to understand your part; a constant attention and ambition to excel in it, with a careful observation of the best actors, will inevitably qualify you, if not for the first, at least for considerable parts.

Your dress (as insignificant a thing as dress is in itself) is now become an object worthy of some at. tention; for I confess I cannot help forming some opinion of a man's sense and character from his dress; and I believe most people do as well as mye self. Any affectation whatsoever in dress implies, in my mind, a flaw in the understanding. Most of our young fellows here display some character or other by their dress; some affect the tremendous, and wear a great and fiercely-cocked hat, an enormous sword, a short waistcoat, and a black cravat: these I should be almost tempted to swear the peace against, in my own defence, if I were not convinced that they are but meek asses in lions' skins. Others go in brown frocks, leather breeches, great oaken cudgels in their hands, their hats uncocked, and their hair unpowdered; and imitate grooms, stage. coachmen, and country bumpkins, so well in their outsides, that I do not make the least doubt of their resembling them equally in their insides. A man of sense carefully avoids any particular character in his dress; he is accurately clean for his own sake; but all the rest is for other people's. He dresses as well, and in the same manner, as the people of sense and fashion of the place where he is. If he dresses better, as he thinks (that is, more) than they, he is & fop; if he dresses worse, he is unpardonably negligent; but of the two, I would rather have a young fellow too much than too little dressed; the excess on that side will wear off, with a little age and reflection ; but if he is negligent at twenty, he will be a sloven at forty, and stink at fifty years old. Dress yourself fine where others are fine, and plain where others are plain; but take care always that your clothes are well made and fit you; for otherwise they will give you a very awkward air. are once well dressed for the day, think no more of it afterwards; and, without any stiffness for fear of discomposing that dress, let all your motions be as easy and natural as if you had no clothes on at all. So much for dress, which I maintain to be a thing of consequence in the polite world.

As to mauners, good-breeding, and the graces, I have so often entertained you upon these important subjects, that I can add nothing to what I have for. merly said. Your own good sense will suggest to

When you

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