them straight, as thus, ‘ee’, ‘ll’; a fault very easily mended.  You will not, I believe, be angry with this little criticism, 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 exceedingly well.  I am not afraid, by what I now say, of making you too vain; because I do not think that a just consciousness 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 sillier 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 endeavors and your speed will slacken in finishing the small remains of your course.  Consider what lustre and ‘eclat’ it will give you, when you return here, to be allowed to be the best scholar, for a gentleman, 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 under upon account of your former bad enunciation.  Go on, and attend most diligently to this important article.  It is, of all 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 that 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 favorite, will take that care.  You see, by this one instance, and in the course of your life 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 beyond the strictly praiseworthy; 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 knave, 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 often necessary and not criminal.