The more we contract our circle, the more necessary it is to be circumspect in the choice of our authors. The grand error of young students, as I told you before, is a too implicit dependence upon books, and too much diffidence in their own capacity; without reflecting that they are much less liable to be misled by their own reason, than by the sophistry of systematical writers. If we would but consult our own feelings, we should easily distinguish _virtue_ and _beauty_: we do not want to be taught either of these; but examples of extreme virtue, and superlative beauty are less common, and these are therefore more difficult to be understood. Our vanity leads us to mistake our own peculiar imbecility for that of nature, and to think those qualities chimerical which we do not perceive within ourselves; idleness and vice rest upon pretended impossibility, and men of little genius conclude that things which are uncommon have no existence. These errors we must endeavour to eradicate, and by using ourselves to contemplate grand objects, destroy the notion of their impossibility: thus, by degrees, our emulation is roused by example, our taste refines, and every thing indifferent becomes intolerable. But let us not have recourse to books for principles which may be found within ourselves. What have we to do with the idle disputes of philosophers, concerning virtue and happiness? Let us rather employ that time in being virtuous and happy, which others waste in fruitless enquiries after the means: let us rather imitate great examples, than busy ourselves with systems and opinions. I always believed, that virtue was in reality active beauty; or at least that they were intimately connected, and sprung from the same source in nature. From this idea it follows, that wisdom and taste are to be improved by the same means, and that a mind truly sensible of the charms of virtue, must receive an equal impression from every other kind of beauty. Yet accurate and refined perceptions are to be acquired only by habit; and hence it is, that we see a painter, in viewing a fine prospect or a good picture, in raptures at certain objects, which a common observer would not even have seen. How many real impressions do we perceive, which we cannot account for? How many _Je-ne-sais-quois_ frequently occur, which taste only can determine? Taste is, in some degree, the microscope of judgment; it brings small objects to our view, and its operations begin where those of judgment end. How then shall we proceed in its cultivation? By exercising our sight as well as feeling, and by judging of the beautiful from inspection, as we judge of virtue from sensation. I am persuaded there may be some hearts upon which the first sight, even of Eloisa, would make no impression.