 susceptible of those Offices and mental Impressions, for which they were ordained; till the Surface of the Countenance grows so callous and rigid, that the Beauties of the Soul can no more be discovered through it, than the Luminaries of Heaven through an Atmosphere of Clouds. Scarce any Thing, save sudden Passion, can then be discernible, like Flashes of Lightening that break through the Gloom.
For this very Reason, my dear Mrs.
Clement,
were it possible for you to advance in Virtues, as you advance in Years; you will however grow less amiable in the Eyes of Mortals, as your Beauties will be, more and more, shut in from their Observation.
This brings me to my last and most important Remark, on the Nature and Power of Beauty, itself. And here we must note that, though Nothing can be affectingly lovely or detestable, that does not arise from some Sentiment of the Soul, there is yet, in many Faces, such a natural Symmetry or Disproportion, as is generally called by the Name of Beauty, and Ugliness. Thus, in some Countenances, you perceive a due Relation and Agreement between the Parts. While in others, the Forehead may overwhelm the nether Face; or the Mouth threaten to devour the other Features; or the Nose may appear as a huge Steeple that hides a small Church; or, as a Mountain that is the whole of a Man's Estate; insomuch that, as some may be said to want a Nose to their Face, in the present Case they may be said to want a Face to their Nose. But this Species of Beauty and Ugliness excites no other kind of Pleasure or Disgust save such as we receive from two Pieces of Architecture, where one is executed with Propriety, and the other is obviously out of all Rule. And, to continue the Simile, if People should be seen looking out at the Windows of those two Buildings; we may come to detest and avoid the First, and to love and frequent the Latter, for the Sake of those who live therein. And just so it is, with regular Faces that express a Deformity of Soul; and, with disproportioned Features that may, however, be pregnant with the Beauty of Sentiment.
By Beauty, therefore, I do not mean the Beauty of Lines, or Angles; of Motion, or Music; of Form, or Colour; of numerical Agreements, or Geometrical Proportions; nor that which excites the Passion, of some pragmatical Inamoratos, for a Shell, a Tulip, or a Butter-fly. All these have, undoubtedly
