yle;
as also, in whose places they are advanced. For this town is never
good-natured enough to raise one, without depressing another. But it is
my design, to avoid saying anything, of any person, which ought justly
to displease; but shall endeavour, by the variety of the matter and
style, to give entertainment for men of pleasure, without offence to
those of business.

White's Chocolate-house, April 18.

All hearts at present pant for two ladies only[96], who have for some
time engrossed the dominion of the town. They are indeed both exceeding
charming, but differ very much in their excellences. The beauty of
Clarissa is soft, that of Chloe piercing. When you look at Clarissa,
you see the most exact harmony of feature, complexion, and shape; you
find in Chloe nothing extraordinary in any one of those particulars, but
the whole woman irresistible. Clarissa looks languishing; Chloe,
killing. Clarissa never fails of gaining admiration; Chloe, of moving
desire. The gazers at Clarissa are at first unconcerned, as if they were
observing a fine picture. They who behold Chloe, at the first glance,
discover transport, as if they met their dearest friend. These different
perfections are suitably represented by the last great painter Italy has
sent us, Mr. Jervas.[97] Clarissa is, by that skilful hand, placed in a
manner that looks artless, and innocent of the torments she gives; Chloe
drawn with a liveliness that shows she is conscious, but not affected,
of her perfections. Clarissa is a shepherdess; Chloe, a country girl. I
must own, the design of Chloe's picture shows, to me, great mastery in
the painter; for nothing could be better imagined than the dress he has
given her, of a straw hat and riband, to represent that sort of beauty
which enters the heart with a certain familiarity, and cheats it into a
belief, that it has received a lover as well as an object of love. The
force of their different beauties is seen also in the effects it makes
on their lovers. The admirers of Chloe are eternally gay and
well-pleased: those of Clarissa, melancholy and thoughtful. And as this
passion always changes the natural man into a quite different creature
from what he was before, the love of Chloe makes coxcombs; that of
Clarissa, madmen. There were of each kind just now here. Here was one
that whistles, laughs, sings, and cuts capers, for love of Chloe.
Another has just now written three lines to Clarissa, then taken a turn
in the gard