me left to be
miserable. He was well pleased with nature, and did not complain of
fortune. He hated vice, was indulgent to frailties, and lamented
misfortunes. He sought not after the failings of men with a design
to expose them; he only found what was ridiculous in them for his
own amusement: he had a secret pleasure in discovering this himself,
and would, indeed, have had a still greater in discovering this to
others, had not he been checked by discretion. Life, in his
opinion, was too short to read all sorts of books, and to burden
one's memory with a multitude of things, at the expense of one's
judgment. He did not apply himself to the most learned writings, in
order to acquire knowledge, but to the most rational, to fortify his
reason: he sometimes chose the most delicate, to give delicacy to
his own taste, and sometimes the most agreeable, to give the same to
his own genius. It remains that he should be described, such as he
was, in friendship and in religion. In friendship he was more
constant than a philosopher, and more sincere than a young man of
good nature without experience. With regard to religion, his piety
consisted more in justice and charity than in penance or
mortification. He placed his confidence in God, trusting in His
goodness, and hoping that in the bosom of His providence he should
find his repose and his felicity."--He was buried in Westminster
Abbey.]

The Chevalier was from that time his hero: they had each of them attained
to all the advantages which a knowledge of the world, and the society of
people of fashion, could add to the improvement of good natural talents.
Saint Evremond, less engaged in frivolous pursuits, frequently gave
little lectures to the Chevalier, and by making observations upon the
past, endeavoured to set him right for the present, or to instruct him
for the future. "You are now," said he, "in the most agreeable way of
life a man of your temper could wish for: you are the delight of a
youthful, sprightly, and gallant court: the king has never a party of
pleasure to which you are not admitted. You play from morning to night,
or, to speak more properly, from night to morning, without knowing
what it is to lose. Far from losing the money you brought hither, as you
have done in other places, you have doubled it, trebled it, multiplied it
almost beyond your wishes, notwithstanding the exorbitant expenses you
a