virtue would be more particularly useful to women than those of great heroines.  The virtues of women are blasted by the breath of public fame, as flowers that grow on an eminence are faded by the sun and wind which expand them.  But true female praise, like the music of the spheres, arises from a gentle, a constant, and an equal progress in the path marked out for them by their great Creator; and, like the heavenly harmony, it is not adapted to the gross ear of mortals, but is reserved for the delight of higher beings, by whose wise laws they were ordained to give a silent light and shed a mild, benignant influence on the world.

Bookseller.—­We have had some English and French writers who aimed at what you suggest.  In the supposed character of Clarissa (said a clergyman to me a few days before I left the world) one finds the dignity of heroism tempered by the meekness and humility of religion, a perfect purity of mind, and sanctity of manners.  In that of Sir Charles Grandison, a noble pattern of every private virtue, with sentiments so exalted as to render him equal to every public duty.

Plutarch.—­Are both these characters by the same author?

Bookseller.—­Ay, Master Plutarch, and what will surprise you more, this author has printed for me.

Plutarch.—­By what you say, it is pity he should print any work but his own.  Are there no other authors who write in this manner?

Bookseller.—­Yes, we have another writer of these imaginary histories; one who has not long since descended to these regions.  His name is Fielding, and his works, as I have heard the best judges say, have a true spirit of comedy and an exact representation of nature, with fine moral touches.  He has not, indeed, given lessons of pure and consummate virtue, but he has exposed vice and meanness with all the powers of ridicule; and we have some other good wits who have exerted their talents to the purposes you approve.  Monsieur de Marivaux, and some other French writers, have also proceeded much upon the same plan with a spirit and elegance which give their works no mean rank among the belles lettres.  I will own that, when there is wit and entertainment enough in a book to make it sell, it is not the worse for good morals.

Charon.—­I think, Plutarch, you have made this gentleman a little more humble, and now I will carry him the rest of his journey.  But he is too frivolous an animal to present to wise Minos.  I wish Mercury were here; he would damn him for his dulness.  I have a good mind to carry him to the Danaides, and leave him to pour water into their vessels which, like his late readers, are destined to eternal emptiness.  Or shall I chain him to the rock, side to side by Prometheus, not for having attempted to steal celestial fire, in order to animate human forms, but for having endeavoured to extinguish that which Jupiter had imparted?  Or shall we constitute him friseur to Tisiphone, and make him curl up her locks with his satires and libels?