of your life, as they are the necessary steps to your fortune.  A man of the best parts, and the greatest learning, if he does not know the world by his own experience and observation, will be very absurd; and consequently very unwelcome in company.  He may say very good things; but they will probably be so ill-timed, misplaced, or improperly addressed, that he had much better hold his tongue.  Full of his own matter, and uninformed of; or inattentive to, the particular circumstances and situations of the company, he vents it indiscriminately; he puts some people out of countenance; he shocks others; and frightens all, who dread what may come out next.  The most general rule that I can give you for the world, and which your experience will convince you of the truth of, is, Never to give the tone to the company, but to take it from them; and to labor more to put them in conceit with themselves, than to make them admire you.  Those whom you can make like themselves better, will, I promise you, like you very well.

A system-monger, who, without knowing anything of the world by experience, has formed a system, of it in his dusty cell, lays it down, for example, that (from the general nature of mankind) flattery is pleasing.  He will therefore flatter.  But how?  Why, indiscriminately.  And instead of repairing and heightening the piece judiciously, with soft colors and a delicate pencil,—­with a coarse brush and a great deal of whitewash, he daubs and besmears the piece he means to adorn.  His flattery offends even his patron; and is almost too gross for his mistress.  A man of the world knows the force of flattery as well as he does; but then he knows how, when, and where to give it; he proportions his dose to the constitution of the patient.  He flatters by application, by inference, by comparison, by hint, and seldom directly.  In the course of the world, there is the same difference in everything between system and practice.

I long to have you at Paris, which is to be your great school; you will be then in a manner within reach of me.

Tell me, are you perfectly recovered, or do you still find any remaining complaint upon your lungs?  Your diet should be cooling, and at the same time nourishing.  Milks of all kinds are proper for you; wines of all kinds bad.  A great deal of gentle, and no violent exercise, is good for you.  Adieu.  ‘Gratia, fama, et valetudo, contingat, abunde!’

LETTER CXIX

London, October 22, O. S. 1750

My dear friend:  This letter will, I am persuaded, find you, and I hope safely, arrived at Montpelier; from whence I trust that Mr. Harte’s indisposition will, by being totally removed, allow you to get to Paris before Christmas.  You will there find two people who, though both English, I recommend in the strongest manner possible to your attention; and advise you to form the most intimate