with the letters, only remarking that there was too much Latin in them.  The executors seem to have moved for what is called an interim injunction—­that is, an injunction until trial of the cause, and, from the report in Ambler, it appears that Lord Apsley (a feeble creature) granted such an injunction, but recommended the executors to permit the publication if, on seeing a copy of the correspondence, they saw no objection to it.  In the result the executors gave their consent, and the publication became an authorized one, so much so that Dodsley was able to obtain an interdict in the Scotch Court preventing a certain Scotch bookseller, caller McFarquhar, from reprinting the letters in Edinburgh.  Whether the executors believed Mrs. Stanhope’s story, or saw no reason to object to the publication of the letters, I do not know, but it is clear that the opposition was a half-hearted one.

It would be hasty to assume that Lord Chesterfield wrote these letters with any intention of publication, and I am therefore left without being able to suggest any strong reason for their existence.  A restless, itching pen, perhaps, accounts for them.  Some men find a pleasure in writing, even at great length; others, of whom Carlyle was one, though they hate the labour, are yet compelled by some fierce necessity to blacken paper.

At all events, we have Lord Chesterfield’s letters, and, having them, they will always have readers, for they are readable.

That the letters are full of wit and wisdom and sound advice is certain.  Mr. Strachey, in his preface, seems to be under the impression that in the popular estimate Chesterfield is reckoned an elegant trifler, a man of no serious account.  What the popular or vulgar estimate of Chesterfield may be it would be hard to determine, nor is it of the least importance, for no one who knows about Lord Chesterfield can possibly entertain any such opinion.  How it came about that so able and ambitious a man made so poor a thing out of life, and failed so completely, is puzzling at first, though a little study would, I think, make the reasons of Chesterfield’s failure plain enough.

To prove by extracts from the Letters how wise a man Chesterfield was would be easy, but tiresome; to exhibit him in a repulsive character would be equally easy, but spiteful.  I prefer to leave him alone, and to content myself with but one quotation, which has a touch of both wisdom and repulsiveness: 

’Consult your reason betimes.  I do not say it will always prove an unerring guide, for human reason is not infallible, but it will prove the least erring guide that you can follow.  Books and conversation may assist it, but adopt neither blindly and implicitly; try both by that best rule God has given to direct us—­reason.  Of all the truths do not decline that of thinking.  The host of mankind can hardly be said to think; their prejudices are almost all adoptive; and in general I believe it is better that it should be