Ever, my dear W., yours,
Biron.
P.S.--I read your letter thus: "the Countess is _miserable_" instead of
which it is "_inexorable_" a very different thing. The best way is to
let her alone; she must be a _diablesse_ by what you told me. You have
probably not _bid_ high enough. _Now_ you are not, perhaps, of my
opinion; but I would not give the tithe of a Birmingham farthing for a
woman who could or would be purchased, nor indeed for any woman _quoad
mere woman_; that is to say, unless I loved her for something more than
her sex. If she _loves_, a little _pique_ is not amiss, nor even if she
don't; the next thing to a woman's _love_ in a man's favour is her
_hatred_,--a seeming paradox but true. Get them once out of
_indifference_ and circumstance, and their passions will do wonders for
a _dasher_ which I suppose you are, though I seldom had the impudence or
patience to follow them up.
[Footnote 1: Lord Petersham was one of the chief dandies of the day.
Gronow in 1814 ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 285) found him
"making a particular sort of blacking, which he said would eventually
supersede every other."
His snuff-mixture was famous among tobacconists, and he gave his name to
a fashionable great-coat. In his collection of snuff-boxes, one of the
finest in England, he was supposed to have a box for every day in the
year. Gronow ('ibid'.)
"heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light-blue Sevres box
he was using being admired, say, in his lisping way, 'Yes, it is a
nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.
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