You will be of the House of Commons as soon as you are of age; and you must first make a figure there, if you would make a figure, or a fortune, in your country.  This you can never do without that correctness and elegance in your own language, which you now seem to neglect, and which you have entirely to learn.  Fortunately for you, it is to be learned.  Care and observation will do it; but do not flatter yourself, that all the knowledge, sense, and reasoning in the world will ever make you a popular and applauded speaker, without the ornaments and the graces of style, elocution, and action.  Sense and argument, though coarsely delivered, will have their weight in a private conversation, with two or three people of sense; but in a public assembly they will have none, if naked and destitute of the advantages I have mentioned.  Cardinal de Retz observes, very justly, that every numerous assembly is a mob, influenced by their passions, humors, and affections, which nothing but eloquence ever did or ever can engage.  This is so important a consideration for everybody in this country, and more particularly for you, that I earnestly recommend it to your most serious care and attention.  Mind your diction, in whatever language you either write or speak; contract a habit of correctness and elegance.  Consider your style, even in the freest conversation and most familiar letters.  After, at least, if not before, you have said a thing, reflect if you could not have said it better.  Where you doubt of the propriety or elegance of a word or a phrase, consult some good dead or living authority in that language.  Use yourself to translate, from various languages into English; correct those translations till they satisfy your ear, as well as your understanding.  And be convinced of this truth, that the best sense and reason in the world will be as unwelcome in a public assembly, without these ornaments, as they will in public companies, without the assistance of manners and politeness.  If you will please people, you must please them in their own way; and, as you cannot make them what they should be, you must take them as they are.  I repeat it again, they are only to be taken by ‘agremens’, and by what flatters their senses and their hearts.  Rabelais first wrote a most excellent book, which nobody liked; then, determined to conform to the public taste, he wrote Gargantua and Pantagruel, which everybody liked, extravagant as it was.  Adieu.

LETTER XCIV

London, December 9, O. S. 1749.

Dear boy:  It is now above forty years since I have never spoken nor written one single word, without giving myself at least one moment’s time to consider whether it was a good or a bad one, and whether I could not find out a better in its place.  An unharmonious and rugged period, at this time, shocks my ears; and I, like all the rest of the world, will willingly exchange and give up some degree of rough