This anxiety to be not merely red and white, which is all they aim at in France, but to be thought very beautiful, and much more beautiful than Nature has made them, is a symptom not very favourable to the idea we would wish to entertain of the chastity, purity, and modesty of our countrywomen.
That they are guilty of a design to deceive is certain.

Otherwise why so much art?
and if to deceive, wherefore and with what purpose?
Certainly either to gratify vanity of the silliest kind, or, which is still more criminal, to decoy and inveigle, and carry on more successfully the business of temptation.

Here, therefore, my opinion splits itself into two opposite sides upon the same question.

I can suppose a French woman, though painted an inch deep, to be a virtuous, discreet, excellent character; and in no instance should I think the worse of one because she was painted.

But an English belle must pardon me if I have not the same charity for her.