The two parts of this work, which have heretofore been printed separate, are now offered to the Public in one volume, as a system of polite and moral instruction for both sexes: This edition is critically corrected, with the special design of furnishing English schools, at a small expence, with a proper book for reading and parsing their own language, that the teacher may be provided with suitable means for mending the manners of his pupils, while he informs their understandings, by analyzing the grammatical construction, and pointing out the beauties of the most approved style.

Portsmouth, Jan. 1786.

The late Lord Chesterfield having been universally allowed to be one of the best bred men of the age, and most intimately acquainted with the principles and manners of mankind, the Editor of the following pages humbly apprehends he could not do the rising generation a greater service, than by collecting those valuable precepts which are contained in his celebrated letters to his son, digesting them under distinct heads, and thereby forming a system of the most useful instruction.

To that end, he has diligently selected every observation and remark that can possibly improve or inform the mind, within the rules of morality: and where there seemed a deficiency in any part of the system, from the occasional chasms in Lord Chesterfield’s correspondence, he has endeavoured to supply it. Much might have been said on the subject of indelicacy, but as instructions on that head, to persons possessed of a liberal education, must have been unnecessary, they are here purposely omitted. Some may be apt to think, that many things in this work are too frivolous to be mentioned; but when it is remembered they are calculated for the multitude, it is presumed they will be received as respectable admonitions. In short, it has been the Editor’s study to make Lord Chesterfield useful to every class of youth; to lay that instruction before them, which they with difficulty must have found amidst a heap of other matter; in a word, to give the very essence of his letters, and at a tenth part of the price those letters sell for.

As all young men, on their first outset in life, are in want of some experienced and friendly hand to bring them forward, and teach them a knowledge of the world; I think I cannot do the rising generation a greater service, than by directing the young man’s steps, and teaching him how to make his way among the crowd. I will suppose him already instructed in the principles of religion, and necessity of moral virtues; (for without these he must be most unhappy) of course shall, in a series of chapters, point out, under distinct heads, the qualifications necessary to make him well received in the world; without which, he cannot expect to bear his part in life, agreeably to his own wishes, or the duty he owes to society; and as modesty is the basis of a proper reception, I shall begin with that.

MODESTY.

Modesty is a polite accomplishment, and generally an attendant upon merit: It is engaging to the highest degree, and wins the heart of all our acquaintance. On the contrary, none are more disgustful in company than the impudent and presuming.

The man who is, on all occasions, commending and speaking well of himself, we naturally dislike. On the other hand, he who studies to conceal his own defects, who does justice to the merit of others, who talks but little of himself, and that with modesty, makes a favourable impression on the persons he is conversing with, captivates their minds, and gains their esteem.

Modesty, however, widely differs from an awkward bashfulness, which is as much to be condemned as the other is to be applauded. To appear simple is as ill-bred as to be impudent. A young man ought to be able to come into a room and address the company, without the least embarrassment. To be out of countenance when spoken to, and not to have an answer ready, is ridiculous to the last degree.

An awkward country fellow, when he comes into company better than himself, is exceedingly disconcerted. He knows not what to do with his hands, or his hat, but either puts one of them in his pocket, and dangles the other by his side; or perhaps twirls his hat on his fingers, or fumbles with the button. If spoken to, he is in a much worse situation, he answers with the utmost difficulty, and nearly stammers; whereas a gentleman, who is acquainted with life, enters a room with gracefulness and a modest assurance, addresses even persons he does not know, in an easy and natural manner, and without the least embarrassment. This is the characteristic of good-breeding, a very necessary knowledge in our intercourse with men; for one of inferior parts, with the behaviour of a gentleman, is frequently better received than a man of sense, with the address and manners of a clown.

Ignorance and vice are the only things we need be ashamed of; steer clear of these, and you may go into any company you will: Not that I would have a young man throw off all dread of appearing abroad; as a fear of offending, or being disesteemed, will make him observe a proper decorum. Some persons from experiencing the inconveniencies of false modesty, have run into the other extreme, and acquired the character of impudent: This is as great a fault as the other. A well-bred man keeps himself within the two, and steers the middle way. He is easy and firm in every company, is modest but not bashful, steady but not impudent. He copies the manners of the better people, and conforms to their customs with ease and attention.

Till we can present ourselves in all companies with coolness and unconcern, we can never present ourselves well; nor will a man ever be supposed to have kept good company, or ever be acceptable in such company, if he cannot appear there easy and unembarrassed. A modest assurance, in every part of life, is the most advantageous qualification we can possibly acquire.

Instead of becoming insolent, a man of sense, under a consciousness of merit, is more modest. He behaves himself indeed with firmness, but without the least presumption. The man who is ignorant of his own merit, is no less a fool than he who is constantly displaying it. A man of understanding avails himself of his abilities, but never boasts of them; whereas the timid and bashful can never push himself in life, be his merit as great as it will; he will be always kept behind by the forward and bustling. A man of abilities, and acquainted with life, will stand as firm in defence of his own rights, and pursue his plans as steadily and unmoved, as the most impudent man alive; but then he does it with a seeming modesty. Thus manner is every thing; what is impudence in one, is proper assurance only in another; for firmness is commendable, but an overbearing conduct is disgustful.

Forwardness being the very reverse of modesty, follow rather than lead the company; that is, join in discourse upon subjects, rather than start one of your own: If you have parts, you will have opportunities enough of shewing them on every topic of conversation, and if you have none, it is better to expose yourself upon a subject of other people’s than of your own.

But, be particularly careful not to speak of yourself, if you can help it. An impudent fellow lugs in himself abruptly upon all occasions, and is ever the hero of his own story. Others will colour their arrogance with, ‘It may seem strange, indeed, that I should talk in this manner of myself; it is what I by no means like, and should never do, if I had not been cruelly and unjustly accused; but when my character is attacked, it is a justice I owe to myself, to defend it.’ This veil is too thin not to be seen through on the first inspection.

Others again, with more art, will modestly boast of all the principal virtues, by calling those virtues weaknesses, and saying, they are so unfortunate as to fall into weaknesses. ‘I cannot see persons suffer,’ says one of this cast, ‘without relieving them; though my circumstances are very unable to afford it.’ ‘I cannot avoid speaking truth, though it is often very imprudent,’ and so on.

This angling for praise is so prevailing a principle, that it frequently stoops to the lowest objects. Men will often boast of doing that, which, if true, would be rather a disgrace to them than otherwise. One man affirms that he rode twenty miles within the hour; ’tis probably a lie; but suppose he did, what then? He had a good horse under him, and is a good jockey. Another swears he has often at a sitting, drank five or six bottles to his own share. Out of respect to him, I will believe him a liar, for I would not wish to think him a beast.

These and many more are the follies of idle people, which, while they think they procure them esteem, in reality make them despised.

To avoid this contempt, therefore, never speak of yourself at all, unless necessity obliges you; and even then, take care to do it in such a manner, that it may not be construed in to fishing for applause. Whatever perfections you may have, be assured, people will find them out; but whether they do or not, nobody will take them upon your own word. The less you say of yourself, the more the world will give you credit for; and the more you say, the less they will believe you.

LYING.

Of all the vices, there is no one more criminal, more mean, and more ridiculous, than lying. The end we design by it is very seldom accomplished, for lies are always found out, at one time or other; and yet there are persons who give way to this vice, who are otherwise of good principles, and have not been ill educated.

Lies generally proceed from vanity, cowardice, and a revengeful disposition, and sometimes from a mistaken notion of self-defence.

He who tells a malicious lie, with a view of injuring the person he speaks of, may gratify his wish for a while, but will, in the end, find it recoil upon himself; for, as soon as he is detected (and detected he most certainly will be) he is despised for the infamous attempt, and whatever he may say hereafter of that person, will be considered as false, whether it be so or not.

If a man lies, shuffles, or equivocates, for, in fact, they are all alike, by way of excuse for any thing he has said or done, he aggravates the offence rather than lessens it; for the person to whom the lie is told has a right to know the truth, or there would have been no occasion to have framed a falsehood. This person, of course, will think himself ill treated for being a second time affronted; for what can be a greater affront than an attempt to impose upon any man’s understanding? Besides, lying, in excuse for a fault, betrays fear, than which nothing is more dastardly, and unbecoming the character of a gentleman.

There is nothing more manly, or more noble, if we have done wrong, than frankly to own it. It is the only way of meeting forgiveness. Indeed, confessing a fault and asking pardon, with great minds, is considered as a sufficient atonement. ‘I have been betrayed into an error,’ or ‘I have injured you, Sir, and am heartily ashamed of it, and sorry for it,’ has frequently disarmed the person injured, and where he would have been our enemy, has made him our friend.

There are persons also, whose vanity leads them to tell a thousand lies. They persuade themselves, that if it be no way injurious to others, it is harmless and innocent, and they shelter their falsehoods under the softer name of untruths. These persons are foolish enough to imagine, that if they can recite any thing wonderful, they draw the attention of the company, and if they themselves are the objects of that wonder, they are looked up to as persons extraordinary. This has made many men to see things that never were in being, hear things that never were said, atchieve feats that never were attempted, dealing always in the marvellous. Such may be assured, however unwilling the persons they are conversing with may be to laugh in their faces, that they hold them secretly in the highest contempt; for he who will tell a lie thus idly, will not scruple to tell a greater, where his interest is concerned. Rather than any person should doubt of my veracity for one minute, I would deprive myself of telling abroad either what I had really seen or heard, if such things did not carry with them the face of probability.

Others again will boast of the great respect they meet with in certain companies; of the honors that are continually heaped on them there; of the great price they give for every thing they purchase; and this to be thought of consequence; but, unless such people have the best and most accurate memory, they will, perhaps, very soon after, contradict their former assertions, and subject themselves to contempt and derision.

Remember then as long as you live, that nothing but strict truth can carry you through life with honor and credit. Liars are not only disagreeable but dangerous companions, and, when known, will ever be shunned by men of understanding. Besides, as the greatest liars are generally the greatest fools, a man who addicts himself to this detestable vice, will not only be looked upon as vulgar, but will never be considered as a man of sense.

GOOD-BREEDING.

Void of good-breeding, every other qualification will be imperfect, unadorned, and to a certain degree unavailing.

Good-breeding being the result of good sense and good nature, is it not wonderful that people possessed of the one, should be deficient in the other? The modes of it, varying according to persons, places, and circumstances, cannot indeed be acquired otherwise than by time and observation, but the substance is every where and always the same.

What good morals are to society in general, good manners are to particular ones; their band and security. Of all actions, next to that of performing a good one, the consciousness of rendering a civility is the most grateful.

We seldom see a person, let him be ever so ill-bred, want in respect to those whom he acknowledges to be his superiors; the manner of shewing this respect, then, is all I contend for. The well-bred man expresses it naturally and easily, while he who is unused to good company expresses it awkwardly. Study, then, to shew that respect which every one wishes to shew, in an easy and grateful way; but this must be learnt by observation.

In company with your equals, or in mixed companies, a greater latitude may be taken in your behaviour; yet, it should never exceed the bounds of decency; for, though no one in this case, can claim any distinguished marks of respect, every one is entitled to civility and good manners. A man need not, for example, fear to put his hands in his pockets, take snuff, sit, stand, or occasionally walk about the room; but it would be highly unbecoming to whistle, wear his hat, loosen his garters, or throw himself across the chairs. Such liberties are offensive to our equals, and insulting to our inferiors. Easiness of carriage by no means implies inattention and carelessness. No one is at liberty to act, in all respects, as he pleases; but is bound by the laws of good manners to behave with decorum.

Let a man talk to you ever so stupidly or frivolously, not to pay some attention to what he says, is savageness to the greatest degree. Nay, if he even forces his conversation to you, it is worse than rudeness not to listen to him; for your inattention in this case, tells him, in express terms, that you think him a blockhead and not worth the hearing. Now, if such behaviour is rude to men, it is much more so to women, who, be their rank what it will, have, on account of their sex, a claim to officious attention from the men. Their little wants and whims, their likes and dislikes, and even their impertinences, are particularly attended to and flattered, and their very thoughts and wishes guessed at and instantly gratified, by every well-bred man.

In promiscuous companies, you should vary your address, agreeably to the different ages of the persons you speak to. It would be rude and absurd to talk of your amours or your pleasures to men of certain dignity and gravity, to clergymen, or men in years; but still you should be as easy with them as with others, your manner only should be varied; you should, if possible, double your respect and attention to them; and were you to insinuate occasionally, that from their observation and experience you wish to profit, you would insensibly win their esteem; for flattery, if not fulsome and gross, is agreeable to all.

When invited to dinner or supper, you must never usurp to yourself the best places, the best dishes, &c. but always decline them, and offer them to others, except, indeed, you are offered any thing by a superior, when it would be a rudeness, if you liked it, not to accept it immediately, without the least apology.—Thus, for example, was a superior, the master of the table, to offer you a thing of which there was but one, to pass it to the person next you, would be indirectly charging him that offered it to you, with a want of good manners and proper respect to his company; or, if you were the only stranger present, it would be a rudeness if you make a feint of refusing it with the customary apology, ‘I cannot think of taking it from you, sir;’ or, ‘I am sorry to deprive you of it;’ as it is supposed he is conscious of his own rank, and if he chose not to give it, would not have offered it; your apology therefore, in this case, is putting him upon an equality with yourself. In like manner, it is rudeness to draw back when requested by a superior to pass a door first, or to step into a carriage before him. In short, it would be endless to particularise all the instances in which a well-bred man shews his politeness in good company, such as not yawning, singing, whistling, warming his breech at the fire, lounging, putting his legs upon the chairs, and the like, familiarities every man’s good sense must condemn, and good-breeding abhor.

But