in an agreeable and friendly commerce, it is at Chambery.  The gentry of the province who assemble there have only sufficient wealth to live and not enough to spoil them; they cannot give way to ambition, but follow, through necessity, the counsel of Cyneas, devoting their youth to a military employment, and returning home to grow old in peace; an arrangement over which honor and reason equally preside.  The women are handsome, yet do not stand in need of beauty, since they possess all those qualifications which enhance its value and even supply the want of it.  It is remarkable, that being obliged by my profession to see a number of young girls, I do not recollect one at Chambery but what was charming:  it will be said I was disposed to find them so, and perhaps there maybe some truth in the surmise.  I cannot remember my young scholars without pleasure.  Why, in naming the most amiable, cannot I recall them and myself also to that happy age in which our moments, pleasing as innocent, were passed with such happiness together?  The first was Mademoiselle de Mallarede, my neighbor, and sister to a pupil of Monsieur Gaime.  She was a fine clear brunette, lively and graceful, without giddiness; thin as girls of that age usually are; but her bright eyes, fine shape, and easy air, rendered her sufficiently pleasing with that degree of plumpness which would have given a heightening to her charms.  I went there of mornings, when she was usually in her dishabille, her hair carelessly turned up, and, on my arrival, ornamented with a flower, which was taken off at my departure for her hair to be dressed.  There is nothing I fear so much as a pretty woman in an elegant dishabille; I should dread them a hundred times less in full dress.  Mademoiselle de Menthon, whom I attended in the afternoon, was ever so.  She made an equally pleasing, but quite different impression on me.  Her hair was flaxen, her person delicate, she was very timid and extremely fair, had a clear voice, capable of just modulation, but which she had not courage to employ to its full extent.  She had the mark of a scald on her bosom, which a scanty piece of blue chenille did not entirely cover, this scar sometimes drew my attention, though not absolutely on its own account.  Mademoiselle des Challes, another of my neighbors, was a woman grown, tall, well-formed, jolly, very pleasing though not a beauty, and might be quoted for her gracefulness, equal temper, and good humor.  Her sister, Madam de Charly, the handsomest woman of Chambery, did not learn music, but I taught her daughter, who was yet young, but whose growing beauty promised to equal her mother’s, if she had not unfortunately been a little red-haired.  I had likewise among my scholars a little French lady, whose name I have forgotten, but who merits a place in my list of preferences.  She had adopted the slow drawling tone of the nuns, in which voice she would utter some very keen things, which did not in the least