“We are touched that a person pleases us more than she seemed at first to have a right to do; and we are agreably surprized that she should have known how to conquer those defects which our eyes shewed us, but which our hearts no longer believe:  ’tis for this reason that women, who are not handsome, have often graces or agreablenesses and that beautiful ones very seldom have.

“For a beautiful person does generally the very contrary of what we expected; she appears to us by degrees less amiable, and, after having surprized us pleasingly, she surprizes us in a contrary manner; but the agreable impression is old, the disagreable one new:  ’tis also seldom that beauties inspire violent passions, which are almost always reserved for those who have graces, that is to say, agreablenesses, which we did not expect, and which we had no reason to expect.

“Magnificent habits have seldom grace, which the dresses of shepherdesses often have.

“We admire the majesty of the draperies of Paul Veronese; but we are touched with the simplicity of Raphael, and the exactness of Corregio.

“Paul Veronese promises much, and pays all he promises; Raphael and Corregio promise little, and pay much, which pleases us more.

“These graces, these agreablenesses, are found oftener in the mind than in the countenance:  the charms of a beautiful countenance are seldom hidden, they appear at first view; but the mind does not shew itself except by degrees, when it pleases, and as much as it pleases; it can conceal itself in order to appear, and give that species of surprize to which those graces, of which I speak, owe their existence.

“This grace, this agreableness, is less in the countenance than in the manner; the manner changes every instant, and can therefore every moment give us the pleasure of surprize:  in one word, a woman can be handsome but in one way, but she may be agreable in a hundred thousand.”

I like this doctrine of Montesquieu’s extremely, because it gives every woman her chance, and because it ranks me above a thousand handsomer women, in the dear power of inspiring passion.

Cruel creature! why did you give me the idea of flowers?  I now envy you your foggy climate:  the earth with you is at this moment covered with a thousand lovely children of the spring; with us, it is an universal plain of snow.

Our beaux are terribly at a loss for similies:  you have lilies of the valley for comparisons; we nothing but what with the idea of whiteness gives that of coldness too.

This is all the quarrel I have with Canada:  the summer is delicious, the winter pleasant with all its severities; but alas! the smiling spring is not here; we pass from winter to summer in an instant, and lose the sprightly season of the Loves.

A letter from the God of my idolatry—­I must answer it instantly.

      Adieu!  Yours, &c. 
          A. Fermor.