coarse rusticity about you, may not
one apply to you the 'rusticus expectat' of Horace?

This knowledge of the world teaches us more particularly two things, both
which are of infinite consequence, and to neither of which nature
inclines us; I mean, the command of our temper, and of our countenance. A
man who has no 'monde' is inflamed with anger, or annihilated with shame,
at every disagreeable incident: the one makes him act and talk like a
madman, the other makes him look like a fool. But a man who has 'du
monde', seems not to understand what he cannot or ought not to resent. If
he makes a slip himself, he recovers it by his coolness, instead of
plunging deeper by his confusion like a stumbling horse. He is firm, but
gentle; and practices that most excellent maxim, 'suaviter in modo,
fortiter in re'. The other is the 'volto sciolto a pensieri stretti'.
People unused to the world have babbling countenances; and are unskillful
enough to show what they have sense enough not to tell. In the course of
the world, a man must very often put on an easy, frank countenance, upon
very disagreeable occasions; he must seem pleased when he is very much
otherwise; he must be able to accost and receive with smiles, those whom
he would much rather meet with swords. In courts he must not turn himself
inside out. All this may, nay must be done, without falsehood and
treachery; for it must go no further than politeness and manners, and
must stop short of assurances and professions of simulated friendship.
Good manners, to those one does not love, are no more a breach of truth,
than "your humble servant" at the bottom of a challenge is; they are
universally agreed upon and understood, to be things of course. They are
necessary guards of the decency and peace of society; they must only act
defensively; and then not with arms poisoned by perfidy. Truth, but not
the whole truth, must be the invariable principle of every man, who hath
either religion, honor, or prudence. Those who violate it may be cunning,
but they are not able. Lies and perfidy are the refuge of fools and
cowards. Adieu!

P. S. I must recommend to you again, to take your leave of all your
French acquaintance, in such a manner as may make them regret your
departure, and wish to see and welcome you at Paris again, where you may
possibly return before it is very long. This must not be done in a cold,
civil manner, but with at least seeming warmth, sentiment, and concern.
Ack