things that I did; it made me attentive and civil to the women I disliked, and to the men I despised, in hopes of the applause of both:  though I neither desired, nor would I have accepted the favors of the one, nor the friendship of the other.  I always dressed, looked, and talked my best; and, I own, was overjoyed whenever I perceived, that by all three, or by any one of them, the company was pleased with me.  To men, I talked whatever I thought would give them the best opinion of my parts and learning; and to women, what I was sure would please them; flattery, gallantry, and love.  And, moreover, I will own to you, under the secrecy of confession, that my vanity has very often made me take great pains to make a woman in love with me, if I could, for whose person I would not have given a pinch of snuff.  In company with men, I always endeavored to outshine, or at least, if possible, to equal the most shining man in it.  This desire elicited whatever powers I had to gratify it; and where I could not perhaps shine in the first, enabled me, at least, to shine in a second or third sphere.  By these means I soon grew in fashion; and when a man is once in fashion, all he does is right.  It was infinite pleasure to me to find my own fashion and popularity.  I was sent for to all parties of pleasure, both of men or women; where, in some measure, I gave the ‘ton’.  This gave me the reputation of having had some women of condition; and that reputation, whether true or false, really got me others.  With the men I was a Proteus, and assumed every shape, in order to please them all:  among the gay, I was the gayest; among the grave, the gravest; and I never omitted the least attentions of good-breeding, or the least offices of friendship, that could either please, or attach them to me:  and accordingly I was soon connected with all the men of any fashion or figure in town.

To this principle of vanity, which philosophers call a mean one, and which I do not, I owe great part of the figure which I have made in life.  I wish you had as much, but I fear you have too little of it; and you seem to have a degree of laziness and listlessness about you that makes you indifferent as to general applause.  This is not in character at your age, and would be barely pardonable in an elderly and philosophical man.  It is a vulgar, ordinary saying, but it is a very true one, that one should always put the best foot foremost.  One should please, shine, and dazzle, wherever it is possible.  At Paris, I am sure you must observe ‘que chacun se fait valoir autant qu’il est possible’; and La Bruyere observes, very justly, qu’on ne vaut dans ce monde que ce qu’on veut valoir’:  wherever applause is in question, you will never see a French man, nor woman, remiss or negligent.  Observe the eternal attentions and politeness that all people have there for one another.  ’Ce n’est pas pour leurs beaux yeux au moins’.  No, but for their own sakes, for commendations and applause.  Let me then recommend this principle of vanity to you; act upon it ‘meo periculo’; I promise you it will turn to your account.  Practice all the arts that ever coquette did, to please.  Be alert and indefatigable in making every man admire, and every woman in love with you.  I can tell you too, that nothing will carry you higher in the world.