Her “Life,” written by Mr. Roberts and others, is rich with letters, which of themselves form a striking autobiography, revealing the writer’s prominent phases of character, her steadfast adhesion to high principles, her progress in the path of literary fame, her wearying of fashionable society, and the gradual consecration of all her powers to the service of God.  Besides these personal matters, we get glimpses of the notable people with whom she was brought into contact, and of the moral and religious condition of the higher classes.  These letters conform to Hannah More’s own idea of what epistolary effusions between friends should be.  “What I want in a letter,” she once wrote, “is the picture of my friend’s mind, and the common course of his life.  I want to know what he is saying and doing; I want him to turn out the inside of his heart to me, without disguise, without appearing better than he is.”  We can therefore obtain a more lifelike portraiture by making extracts from her correspondence than by attempting the task in any other way.

Describing her feelings in associating with persons of rank and wit, she says:—­“I had yesterday the pleasure of dining in Hill Street, Berkeley Square, at a certain Mrs. Montague’s, a name not totally obscure.  The party consisted of herself, Mrs. Carter, Dr. Johnson, Solander, and Matty, Mrs. Boscawen, Miss Reynolds, and Sir Joshua (the idol of every company); some other persons of high rank and less wit, and your humble servant,—­a party that would not have disgraced the table of Laelius or of Atticus.  I felt myself a worm for the consequence which was given me, by mixing me with such a society; but as I told Mrs. Boscawen, and with great truth, I had an opportunity of making an experiment of my heart, by which I learnt that I was not envious, for I certainly did not repine at being the meanest person in company...Dr. Johnson asked me how I liked the new tragedy of Braganza.  I was afraid to speak before them all, as I knew a diversity of opinion prevailed among the company:  however, as I thought it less evil to dissent from the opinion of a fellow-creature than to tell a falsity, I ventured to give my sentiments, and was satisfied with Johnson’s answering, ’You are right, madam.’”

Her conscience was uneasy from visiting the opera, and also from attending Sunday parties, which were greatly in vogue.

She thus wrote on this subject:—­

                                           “London, 1775. 
     “’Bear me, some god, oh, quickly bear me hence,
       To wholesome solitude, the nurse of—­’