Dear Boy:  I am extremely well pleased with the course of studies which Mr. Harte informs me you are now in, and with the degree of application which he assures me you have to them.  It is your interest to do so, as the advantage will be all your own.  My affection for you makes me both wish and endeavor that you may turn out well; and, according as you do turn out, I shall either be proud or ashamed of you.  But as to mere interest, in the common acceptation of that word, it would be mine that you should turn out ill; for you may depend upon it, that whatever you have from me shall be most exactly proportioned to your desert.  Deserve a great deal, and you shall have a great deal; deserve a little, and you shall have but a little; and be good for nothing at all, and, I assure you, you shall have nothing at all.

Solid knowledge, as I have often told you, is the first and great foundation of your future fortune and character; for I never mention to you the two much greater points of Religion and Morality, because I cannot possibly suspect you as to either of them.  This solid knowledge you are in a fair way of acquiring; you may, if you please; and I will add, that nobody ever had the means of acquiring it more in their power than you have.  But remember, that manners must adorn knowledge, and smooth its way through the world.  Like a great rough diamond, it may do very well in a closet by way of curiosity, and also for its intrinsic value; but it will never be worn or shine if it is not polished.  It is upon this article, I confess, that I suspect you the most, which makes me recur to it so often; for I fear that you are apt to show too little attention to everybody, and too much contempt to many.  Be convinced, that there are no persons so insignificant and inconsiderable, but may, some time or other, have it in their power to be of use to you; which they certainly will not, if you have once shown them contempt.  Wrongs are often forgiven; but contempt never is.  Our pride remembers it forever.  It implies a discovery of weaknesses, which we are much more careful to conceal than crimes.  Many a man will confess his crimes to a common friend, but I never knew a man who would tell his silly weaknesses to his most intimate one—­as many a friend will tell us our faults without reserve, who will not so much as hint at our follies; that discovery is too mortifying to our self-love, either to tell another, or to be told of one’s self.  You must, therefore, never expect to hear of your weaknesses, or your follies, from anybody but me; those I will take pains to discover, and whenever I do, shall tell you of them.

Next to manners are exterior graces of person and address, which adorn manners, as manners adorn knowledge.  To say that they please, engage, and charm, as they most indisputably do, is saying that one should do everything possible to acquire them.  The graceful manner of speaking is, particularly, what I shall always holloa in your ears, as Hotspur holloaed Mortimer to Henry IV., and, like him too, I have aimed to have a starling taught to say, speak distinctly and gracefully, and send him you, to replace your loss of the unfortunate Matzel, who, by the way, I am told, spoke his language very distinctly and gracefully.