Adieu, my dearest Bell! 
      Yours,
          J. Temple.

LETTER 127.

To John Temple, Esq; Pall Mall.

Silleri, April 18.

Indeed?

  “Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario,
  That dear perfidious—­”

Absolutely, my dear Temple, the sex ought never to forgive Lucy for daring to monopolize so very charming a fellow.  I had some thoughts of a little badinage with you myself, if I should return soon to England; but I now give up the very idea.

One thing I will, however, venture to say, that love Lucy as much as you please, you will never love her half so well as she deserves; which, let me tell you, is a great deal for one woman, especially, as you well observe, one handsome woman, to say of another.

I am, however, not quite clear your idea is just:  cattism, if I may be allowed the expression, seeming more likely to be the vice of those who are conscious of wanting themselves the dear power of pleasing.

Handsome women ought to be, what I profess myself, who am however only pretty, too vain to be envious; and yet we see, I am afraid, too often, some little sparks of this mean passion between rival beauties.

Impartially speaking, I believe the best natured women, and the most free from envy, are those who, without being very handsome, have that je ne scai quoi, those nameless graces, which please even without beauty; and who therefore, finding more attention paid to them by men than their looking-glass tells them they have a right to expect, are for that reason in constant good humor with themselves, and of course with every body else:  whereas beauties, claiming universal empire, are at war with all who dispute their rights; that is, with half the sex.

I am very good natured myself; but it is, perhaps, because, though a pretty woman, I am more agreable than handsome, and have an infinity of the je ne scai quoi.

A propos, my dear Temple, I am so pleased with what Montesquieu says on this subject, that I find it is not in my nature to resist translating and inserting it; you cannot then say I have sent you a letter in which there is nothing worth reading.

I beg you will read this to the misses, for which you cannot fail of their thanks, and for this reason; there are perhaps a dozen women in the world who do not think themselves handsome, but I will venture to say, not one who does not think herself agreable, and that she has this nameless charm, this so much talked of I know not what, which is so much better than beauty.  But to my Montesquieu: 

“There is sometimes, both in persons and things, an invisible charm, a natural grace, which we cannot define, and which we are therefore obliged to call the je ne scai quoi.

“It seems to me that this is an effect principally founded on surprize.