I know not whether it be worth while to tell you, that my cousin’s
wedding produced me two suitors; they met here a few days ago; one of
them from Yverdon, hunting all the way from castle to castle, and the
other from Germany, in the stage-coach from Berne. The first is a kind
of smart, that speaks loud and peremptory enough to make his repartees
pass for wit, among those who attend only to his manner. The other is
a great bashful simpleton, whose timidity, however, is not of that
amiable kind which arises from the fear of displeasing; but is owing
to the embarrassment of a blockhead, that knows not what to say, and
the awkwardness of a libertine who is at a loss how to behave himself
in the company of modest women. As I well know the intentions of my
father in regard to these two gentlemen, I took, with pleasure, the
freedom he gave me, of treating them agreeable to my own humour,
which, I believe, is such as will soon get the better of that which
brought them hither. I hate them for their presumption, in pretending
to a heart which is yours, without the least merit to dispute it with
you; yet if they had ever so much, I should hate them the more; but
where could they acquire it? they or any other man in the universe?
no, my dear friend, rest satisfied, it is impossible. Nay, were it
possible that another should be possessed of equal merit, or even that
another _you_ should attack my heart, I should never listen to any but
the first. Be not uneasy, therefore, at these two animals, which I
have with regret condescended to mention. What pleasure should I have
in being able to give them both such equal portions of disgust, as
that they should resolve to depart both together as they came.
M. de Crouzas has lately given us a refutation of the ethic epistles
of Mr. Pope, which I have read, but it did not please me. I will not
take upon me to say which of these two authors is in the right, but I
am conscious that M. de Crouza’s book will never excite the reader to
do any one virtuous action, while our zeal for every thing great and
good is awakened by that of Pope. For my own part, I have no other
rule by which to judge of what I read, than that of consulting the
dispositions in which I rise up from my book, nor can I well conceive
what sort of merit any piece has to boast, the reading of which leaves
no benevolent impression behind it, nor stimulates the reader to any
thing that is good. [28]