Eloisa

N. There, take your Manuscript: I have read it quite through.

R. Quite through? I understand you: you think there are not many readers will follow your example.

R. Turpe & miserabile. But let me have your sincere opinion.

R. You have dared to the utmost by that single word: Pray explain yourself.

N. My opinion depends upon your answer to this question: is it a real, or fictitious, correspondence?

R. I cannot perceive the consequence. In order to give one’s sentiments of a book, of what importance can it be to know how it was written?

N. In this case it is of great importance. A portrait has its merit if it resembles the original, be that original ever so strange; but in a picture which is the produce of imagination, every human figure should resemble human nature, or the picture is of no value: yet supposing them both good in their kind, there is this difference, the portrait is interesting but to a few people, whilst the picture will please the public in general.

R. I conceive your meaning. If these letters are portraits, they are uninteresting; if they are pictures, they are ill done. Is it not so?

R. Thus I shall snatch your answers before you speak. But, as I cannot reply, directly to your question, I must beg leave to propose one in my turn. Suppose the worst: my Eloisa——

N. But certainly it is no more than a fiction.