 to be spoiled by Whitening, nor the Flavour to be adulterated by a Grain of Sweet. And then you say you can't like Coffee; and I could not but laugh, though I was quite ashamed at the wry Faces you made the other Day, when you mistook the Olives for Sweetmeats. But these Things, my Child, are relished by Persons of Taste, and you must force yourself to swallow and relish them, also.
I was talking awhile ago of young Lady
Jane Quirp.
There's a Pattern for you,
Harriet;
one who never likes or dislikes, or says or does any Thing a Hair's Breadth beyond the Pink of the Mode. She is ugly, it is true, and very ill-natured; but then she is finely bred, and has all the becoming Airs of a Miss of Distinction. Her you must love, my Child, and to her you must pay your Court; for you must learn to love and prefer such Matters and Persons, alone, as will serve, in the Beau-Monde, to render you noted and respected for the Accomplishments in vogue.
These Lessons and Efforts, in Time, have their Influence. Miss comes to accommodate her Taste, and Relish of Things, to the Taste and Relish of those whom she is proud to resemble. She now is ashamed of Nothing, but in Proportion as it is below the Top of the Mode; and she blushes at no Indecency that Fashion is pleased to adopt. Her whole Soul and Essence is futilized and extracted into Shew and Superficials. She learns that Friendship, in high Life, is nothing but Compliment; and Visits, Intimacies, and Connections, the polite Grimace of People of Distinction. That, to talk elegantly upon Nothing, is the Sum of Conversation. That Beauty and Dress are the Constituents of female Perfection. And that the more we depreciate and detract from others, the more eminently we ourselves shall shine forth and be exalted. She is followed by Fops, she is worshipped by Fortunehunters. She is mounted aloft upon the Wings of Flattery, and is hardened against public Opinion by Self conceit. While she beholds a circling Group, of the Taylor's Creation, admiring the Harmony of her Motions, the Fineness of her Complexion, and the Lustre of her Ornaments, the same Vanity, that bids her to be desirous of Conquests, bids her also to despise them: But, for the vulgar World, she regards it as the Dust beneath her Steps, created to no End, save to be looked down upon, and trodden under
