all you know, and all you can do, will avail you very little. Adieu.




LETTER CIII

LONDON, January 25, O. S. 1750

MY DEAR FRIEND: It is so long since I have heard from you, that I suppose
Rome engrosses every moment of your time; and if it engrosses it in the
manner I could wish, I willingly give up my share of it. I would rather
'prodesse quam conspici'. Put out your time, but to good interest; and I
do not desire to borrow much of it. Your studies, the respectable remains
of antiquity, and your evening amusements cannot, and indeed ought not,
to leave you much time to write. You will, probably, never see Rome
again; and therefore you ought to see it well now; by seeing it well, I
do not mean only the buildings, statues, and paintings, though they
undoubtedly deserve your attention: but I mean seeing into the
constitution and government of it. But these things certainly occur to
your own common sense.

How go, your pleasures at Rome? Are you in fashion there? that is, do you
live with the people who are?--the only way of being so yourself, in
time. Are you domestic enough in any considerable house to be called 'le
petit Stanhope'? Has any woman of fashion and good-breeding taken the
trouble of abusing and laughing at you amicably to your face? Have you
found a good 'decrotteuse'. For those are the steps by which you must
rise to politeness. I do not presume to ask if you have any attachment,
because I believe you will not make me your confident; but this I will