grave with the same pomp and magnificence, being sent thither partly
by the loss of one lover and partly by the possession of another.

I have often reflected with myself on this unaccountable humour in
womankind, of being smitten with everything that is showy and
superficial; and on the numberless evils that befall the sex from
this light fantastical disposition. I myself remember a young lady
that was very warmly solicited by a couple of importunate rivals,
who, for several months together, did all they could to recommend
themselves, by complacency of behaviour and agreeableness of
conversation. At length, when the competition was doubtful, and the
lady undetermined in her choice, one of the young lovers very
luckily bethought himself of adding a supernumerary lace to his
liveries, which had so good an effect that he married her the very
week after.

The usual conversation of ordinary women very much cherishes this
natural weakness of being taken with outside and appearance. Talk
of a new-married couple, and you immediately hear whether they keep
their coach and six, or eat in plate. Mention the name of an absent
lady, and it is ten to one but you learn something of her gown and
petticoat. A ball is a great help to discourse, and a birthday
furnishes conversation for a twelvemonth after. A furbelow of
precious stones, a hat buttoned with a diamond, a brocade waistcoat
or petticoat, are standing topics. In short, they consider only the
drapery of the species, and never cast away a thought on those
ornaments of the mind that make persons illustrious in themselves
and useful to others. When women are thus perpetually dazzling one
another's imaginations, and filling their heads with nothing but
colours, it is no wonder that they are more attentive to the