LETTER LII. Rica to Usbek, at * * *.

THE other day I was in some company, where I was very well diverted. There were women of every age, one of fourscore years, one of sixty, one of forty, who had a niece between twenty and two and twenty. A certain instinct led me to go near the last, who whispered in my ear: “What do you say to my aunt, who at her years is desirous of having lovers, and still endeavours to be thought handsome?” “She is in the wrong, said I, it is a design only suitable to you.” A moment afterwards I happened to be near her aunt, who says to me, “What do you say to that woman, who, at least, is threescore, and yet spent an hour to-day at her dressing table?” “It was time lost, said I, and she ought to have

had your beauty to excuse her.” I went to this unhappy threescore, and pitied her in my heart, when she whispered me: “Is there any thing so ridiculous? Look at that woman of fourscore, who yet wears flame-coloured ribbons; she would fain make herself young, and indeed she has succeeded, for this borders upon infancy.” “Oh heavens! said I to myself, shall we never be sensible but of the folly of others?” “It is perhaps a happiness, said I, afterward, that we can reap comfort from the weaknesses of another.” However, being in a humour to be merry, Come, said I, we have mounted high enough, let us now go downward, and begin with the old lady who is at the top.” “Madam, you are so very like the lady I just now left to speak to you, that it seems as if you were sisters; I fancy you are both of the same age.” “Truly, Sir, said she, when one dies of age, the other will quake for fear; I do not believe there is two days difference between us.” When I had quitted my decrepit lady, I went to her of sixty. “Madam, said I, you must decide a wager I have laid; I have ventured a wager that you and this lady are of an age, shewing her the lady of forty.” “Truly, said she, I believe there is not above six months difference.” Good, so far; let us go on. I still descend, and go to the lady of forty. “Madam, do me the favour to inform me, if it is not in jest, when you call the lady, who is at the other end of the table, your niece? You are as young as she is; besides, she has something of a decay in her face, which you certainly have not; and the lively colours in your cheeks”—“No, hear me, said she, I am her aunt; but her mother was at least five and twenty years older than myself; we were not by the same venter; I have heard my late sister say, that her daughter and myself were both born in the same year. “I then said right, madam, and was not wrong in being surprised.” My dear Usbek, when the women find themselves near their end by the loss of their charms, they would willingly steal back again towards youth. How should they but endeavour to cheat others, who make every effort to deceive themselves, and to dispossess their minds of the most afflicting of all thoughts?

Paris, the 3d of the moon Chalval,
1713.