R. Banter me as you please, I shall persist. Those who aspire to fame must calculate their works for the meridian of Paris; but those who write with a view to do good, must write for the country. How many worthy people are there who pass their lives in cultivating a few paternal acres, far distant from the metropolis, and who think themselves exiled by the partiality of fortune? During the long winter evenings, deprived of society, they pass the time in reading such books of amusement as happen to fall into their hands. In their rustic simplicity they do not pride themselves on their wit or learning; they read for entertainment rather than instruction; books of morality and philosophy are entirely unknown to them. As to your romances, they are so far from being adapted to their situation, that they serve only to render it insupportable. Their retreat is represented to be a desert, so that whilst they afford a few hours amusement, they prepare for them whole months of regret and discontent. Why may I not suppose that, by some fortunate accident, this book, like many others of still less merit, will fall into the hands of those inhabitants of the fields, and that the pleasing picture of a life exactly resembling theirs will render it more tolerable? I have great pleasure in the idea of a married couple reading this novel together, imbibing fresh courage to support their common labours, and perhaps new designs to render them useful. How can they possibly contemplate the representation of a happy family without attempting to imitate the pleasing model? How can they be affected with the charms of conjugal union, even where love is wanting, without increasing and confirming their own attachment? In quitting their book, they will neither be discontented with their situation, nor disgusted at their labour: on the contrary, every object around them will assume a more delightful aspect, their duties will seem ennobled, their taste for the pleasures of nature will revive; her genuine sensations will be rekindled in their hearts, and perceiving happiness within their reach, they will learn to taste it as they ought: they will perform the same functions, but with another soul; and what they did before as peasants only, they will now transact as real patriarchs. N. So far, you sail before the wind. Husbands, wives, matrons----but with regard to young girls; d’ye say nothing of those? R. No. A modest girl will never read books of love. If she should complain of having been injured by the perusal of these volumes, she is unjust: she has lost no virtue; for she had none to lose. N. Prodigious! attend to this, all ye amorous writers; for thus ye are all justified. R. Provided they are justified by their own hearts and the object of their writings. N. And is that the case with you?