AFTER my first surprise was over, I endeavoured, by nicely examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any fruit of my search, but my being clearly convinced of the error of that vulgar notion, that a face exactly proportioned, and perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable; nature having done for her, with more success, what Appelles is said to have essayed, by a collection of the most exact features, to form a perfect face.  Add to all this, a behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such easy motions, with an air so majestic, yet free from stiffness or affectation, that I am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported upon the most polite throne of Europe, no body would think her other than born and bred to be a queen, though educated in a country we call barbarous.  To say all in a word, our most celebrated English beauties would vanish near her.

SHE was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered with silver, very well fitted to her shape, and shewing to admiration the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of her shift.  Her drawers were pale pink, her waistcoat green and silver, her slippers white sattin, finely embroidered:  her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle set round with diamonds; upon her head a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great length, in various tresses, and on one side of her head some bodkins of jewels.  I am afraid you will accuse me of extravagance in this description.  I think I have read somewhere, that women always speak in rapture when they speak of beauty, and I cannot imagine why they should not be allowed to do so.  I rather think it a virtue to be able to admire without any mixture of desire or envy.  The gravest writers have spoken with great warmth, of some celebrated pictures and statues.  The workmanship of Heaven, certainly excels all our weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim to our praise.  For my part, I am not ashamed to own, I took more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece of sculpture could have given me.  She told me, the two girls at her feet were her daughters, though she appeared too young to be their mother.  Her fair maids were ranged below the sofa, to the number of twenty, and put me in mind of the pictures of the ancient nymphs.  I did not think all nature could have furnished such a scene of beauty.  She made them a sign to play and dance.  Four of them immediately began to play some soft airs on instruments, between a lute and a guitar, which they accompanied with their voices, while the others danced by turns.  This dance was very different from what I had seen before.  Nothing could be more artful, or more proper to raise certain ideas.  The tunes so soft!—­the motions so languishing!—­accompanied with pauses and dying eyes! half-falling back, and then recovering themselves in so artful a manner, that