The perceptions of persons in retirement are very different from those of people in the great world; their passions being differently modified, are differently exprest; their imaginations constantly imprest by the same objects, are more violently affected. The same small number of images constantly return, mix with every idea, and create those strange and false notions so remarkable in people who spend their lives in solitude; but does it follow that their language is energic? No; ’tis only extraordinary: it is in our conversation with the world that we learn to speak with energy; first, because we must speak differently and better than others, and then, being every moment obliged to affirm what may not be believed, and to express sentiments which we do not feel, we endeavour at a persuasive manner which supplies the place of interior persuasion. Do you believe that people of real sensibility express themselves with that vivacity, energy, and ardor which you so much admire in our drama and romances? No; true passion, full of itself, is rather diffusive than emphatical; it does not even think of persuasion, as it never supposes that its existence can be doubtful. In expressing its feelings it speaks rather for the sake of its own ease, than to inform others. Love is painted with more vivacity in large cities, but is it in the village therefore less violent? N. So that the weakness of the expression is a proof of the strength of their passion. R. Sometimes, at least, it is an indication of its reality. Read but a love letter written by an author who endeavours to shine as a man of wit; if he has any warmth in his brain, his words will set fire to the paper; but the flame will spread no farther: you may be charmed, and perhaps a little moved, but it will be a fleeting agitation which will leave nothing except the remembrance of words. On the contrary, a letter really dictated by love, written by a lover influenced by a real passion, will be tame, diffuse, prolix, unconnected, and full of repetitions: his heart overflowing with the same sentiment, constantly returns to the same expressions, and like a natural fountain flows continually without being exhausted. Nothing brilliant, nothing remarkable; one remembers neither words nor phrases; there is nothing to be admired, nothing striking: yet we are moved without knowing why. Though we are not struck with strength of sentiment, we are touched with its truth, and our hearts, in spite of us, sympathize with the writer. But men of no sensibility, who know nothing more than the flowery jargon of the passions, are ignorant of those beauties and despise them. N. I am all attention.