Chapter 34.00: Chapter ii. — A short hint of what we can do in the sublime, and a description of Miss Sophia Western.

**
Chapter ii. — A short hint of what we can do in the sublime, and a
description of Miss Sophia Western.
**

Hushed be every ruder breath. May the heathen ruler of the winds confine
in iron chains the boisterous limbs of noisy Boreas, and the sharp-pointed
nose of bitter-biting Eurus. Do thou, sweet Zephyrus, rising from thy
fragrant bed, mount the western sky, and lead on those delicious gales,
the charms of which call forth the lovely Flora from her chamber, perfumed
with pearly dews, when on the 1st of June, her birth-day, the blooming
maid, in loose attire, gently trips it over the verdant mead, where every
flower rises to do her homage, till the whole field becomes enamelled, and
colours contend with sweets which shall ravish her most.

So charming may she now appear! And you the feathered choristers of
nature, whose sweetest notes not even Handel can excell, tune your
melodious throats to celebrate her appearance. From love proceeds your
music, and to love it returns. Awaken therefore that gentle passion in
every swain: for lo! Adorned with all the charms in which nature can array
her; bedecked with beauty, youth, sprightliness, innocence, modesty, and
tenderness, breathing sweetness from her rosy lips, and darting brightness
from her sparkling eyes, the lovely Sophia comes!

Reader, perhaps thou hast seen the statue of the _Venus de Medicis_.
Perhaps, too, thou hast seen the gallery of beauties at Hampton Court.
Thou may'st remember each bright Churchill of the galaxy, and all the
toasts of the Kit-cat. Or, if their reign was before thy times, at least
thou hast seen their daughters, the no less dazzling beauties of the
present age; whose names, should we here insert, we apprehend they would
fill the whole volume.

Now if thou hast seen all these, be not afraid of the rude answer which
Lord Rochester once gave to a man who had seen many things. No. If thou
hast seen all these without knowing what beauty is, thou hast no eyes; if
without feeling its power, thou hast no heart.

Yet is it possible, my friend, that thou mayest have seen all these
without being able to form an exact idea of Sophia; for she did not
exactly resemble any of them. She was most like the picture of Lady
Ranelagh: and, I have heard, more still to the famous dutchess of
Mazarine; but most of all she resembled one whose image never can depart
from my breast, and whom, if thou dost remember, thou hast then, my
friend, an adequate idea of Sophia.

But lest this should not have been thy fortune, we will endeavour with our
utmost skill to describe this paragon, though we are sensible that our
highest abilities are very inadequate to the task.

Sophia, then, the only daughter of Mr Western, was a middle-sized woman;
but rather inclining to tall. Her shape was not only exact, but extremely
delicate: and the nice proportion of her arms promised the truest symmetry
in her limbs. Her hair, which was black, was so luxuriant, that it reached
her middle, before she cut it to comply with the modern fashion; and it
was now curled so gracefully in her neck, that few could believe it to be
her own. If envy could find any part of the face which demanded less
commendation than the rest, it might possibly think her forehead might
have been higher without prejudice to her. Her eyebrows were full, even,
and arched beyond the power of art to imitate. Her black eyes had a lustre
in them, which all her softness could not extinguish. Her nose was exactly
regular, and her mouth, in which were two rows of ivory, exactly answered
Sir John Suckling's description in those lines:—

Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin.
Some bee had stung it newly.

Her cheeks were of the oval kind; and in her right she had a dimple, which
the least smile discovered. Her chin had certainly its share in forming
the beauty of her face; but it was difficult to say it was either large or
small, though perhaps it was rather of the former kind. Her complexion had
rather more of the lily than of the rose; but when exercise or modesty
increased her natural colour, no vermilion could equal it. Then one might
indeed cry out with the celebrated Dr Donne:

—Her pure and eloquent blood
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought
That one might almost say her body thought.

Her neck was long and finely turned: and here, if I was not afraid of
offending her delicacy, I might justly say, the highest beauties of the
famous Venus de Medicis were outdone. Here was whiteness which no
lilies, ivory, nor alabaster could match. The finest cambric might indeed
be supposed from envy to cover that bosom which was much whiter than
itself. —It was indeed,

_Nitor splendens Pario marmore purius_.

A gloss shining beyond the purest brightness of Parian marble.

Such was the outside of Sophia; nor was this beautiful frame disgraced by
an inhabitant unworthy of it. Her mind was every way equal to her person;
nay, the latter borrowed some charms from the former; for when she smiled,
the sweetness of her temper diffused that glory over her countenance which
no regularity of features can give. But as there are no perfections of the
mind which do not discover themselves in that perfect intimacy to which we
intend to introduce our reader with this charming young creature, so it is
needless to mention them here: nay, it is a kind of tacit affront to our
reader's understanding, and may also rob him of that pleasure which he
will receive in forming his own judgment of her character.

It may, however, be proper to say, that whatever mental accomplishments
she had derived from nature, they were somewhat improved and cultivated by
art: for she had been educated under the care of an aunt, who was a lady
of great discretion, and was thoroughly acquainted with the world, having
lived in her youth about the court, whence she had retired some years
since into the country. By her conversation and instructions, Sophia was
perfectly well bred, though perhaps she wanted a little of that ease in
her behaviour which is to be acquired only by habit, and living within
what is called the polite circle. But this, to say the truth, is often too
dearly purchased; and though it hath charms so inexpressible, that the
French, perhaps, among other qualities, mean to express this, when they
declare they know not what it is; yet its absence is well compensated by
innocence; nor can good sense and a natural gentility ever stand in need
of it.