N. As to the reader being interested, his concern is universal, and therefore next to none. Not one bad action; not one wicked man to make us fear for the good. Events so natural, and so simple, that they scarce deserve the name of events; no surprize; no dramatic artifice; every thing happens just as it was expected. Is it worth while to register such actions as every man may see any day of his life in his own house or in that of his neighbour? R. So that you would have common men, and _un_common events? Now I should rather desire the contrary. You took it for a romance: it is not a romance: but, as you said before, a collection of letters. N. Which are no letters at all: this, I think, I said also. What an epistolary stile! how full of bombast! What exclamations! What preparation! How emphatical to express common ideas! What big words and weak reasoning! Frequently neither sense, accuracy, art, energy, nor depth. Sublime language and groveling thoughts. If your personages are in nature, confess, at least, that their stile is unnatural. R. I own that in the light in which you are pleased to view them, it must appear so. N. Do you suppose the public will not judge in the same manner; and did you not ask my opinion? R. I did, and I answer you with a design to have it more explicitly: now it appears that you would be better pleased with letters written on purpose to be printed. N. Perhaps I might; at least I am of opinion that nothing should be printed which is not fit for the press. R. So that in books we should behold mankind only as they chuse to appear. N. Most certainly, as to the author; those whom he represents, such as they are. But in these letters this is not the case. Not one strong delineation; not a single personage strikingly characterized; no solid observations; no knowledge of the world. What can be learnt in the little sphere of two or three lovers or friends constantly employed in matters only relative to themselves? R. We may learn to love human nature, whilst in extensive society we learn to hate mankind. Your judgment is severe; that of the public ought to be still more so. Without complaining of injustice, I will tell you, in my turn, in what light these letters appear to me; not so much to excuse their defects, as to discover their source.