he should be, and
as one day he will wish he had been, refines at least his pleasures by
taste, accompanies them with decency, and enjoys them with dignity. Few
men can be men of pleasure, every man may be a rake. Remember that I
shall know everything you say or do at Paris, as exactly as if, by the
force of magic, I could follow you everywhere, like a sylph or a gnome,
invisible myself. Seneca says, very prettily, that one should ask nothing
of God, but what one should be willing that men should know; nor of men,
but what one should be willing that God should know. I advise you to say
and do nothing at Paris, but what you would be willing that I should
know. I hope, nay, I believe, that will be the case. Sense, I dare say,
you do not want; instruction, I am sure, you have never wanted:
experience you are daily gaining: all which together must inevitably (I
should think) make you both 'respectable et aimable', the perfection of a
human character. In that case nothing shall be wanting on my part, and
you shall solidly experience all the extent and tenderness of my
affection for you; but dread the reverse of both! Adieu!

P. S. When you get to Paris, after you have been to wait on Lord
Albemarle, go to see Mr. Yorke, whom I have particular reasons for
desiring that you should be well with, as I shall hereafter explain to
you. Let him know that my orders, and your own inclinations, conspired to
make you desire his friendship and protection.

LETTER CXXII

MY DEAR FRIEND: I have sent you so many preparatory letters for Paris,
that this, which will meet you there, shall only be a summary of them
all.

You have hitherto had more liberty than anybody of your age ever had; and
I must do you the justice to own, that you have made a better use of it
than most people of your age would have done; but then, though you had
not a jailer, you had a friend with you. At Paris, you will not only be
unconfined, but unassisted. Your own good sense must be your only guide:
I have great confidence in it, and am convinced that I shall receive just
such accounts of your conduct at Paris as I could wish; for I tell you
beforehand, that I shall be most minutely informed of all that you do,
and almost of all that you say there. Enjoy the pleasures of youth, you
cannot do better: but refine and dignify them like a man, of parts; let
them raise, and not sink; let them adorn and not vilify your character;
let them, in short, be the pleasure