Chapter VIII: Letter I

To the never Enough Admir’d COUNT D’ELMONT.

_In your Country, where Women are allow’d the priveledge of
being seen and Address’d to, it wou’d be a Crime unpardonable
to Modesty, to make the first Advances. But here, where rigid
Rules are Bar’s, as well to Reason, as to Nature: It wou’d be
as great one, to feign an Infidelity of your Merit. I say,
feign, for I look on it, as an impossibility really to behold
you with Indifferency: But, if I cou’d believe that any of my
Sex were in good earnest so dull, I must confess, I shou’d Envy
that happy Stupidity, which wou’d secure me from the Pains
such a Passion, as you create, must Inflict; unless, from the
Millions whom your Charms have preach’d; you have yet a corner
of your Heart Unpreposess’d; and an Inclination willing to
receive the Impression of_,

Your most Passionate and Tender,
(but ’till she receives a favourable Answer)

Your unknown Adorer.