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 p